


Two of Us against the World

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Greg is the best, Love Is Never Easy, M/M, Molly Hooper is a Good Friend, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Slow Burn, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-18 18:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: When people saw him they saw a Detective Inspector at the New Scotland Yard. A protector. A solid wall of enforcement. The Hand of the Law. What no one realized was just how deeply he cared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One more story for the love of Greg :) and Sherlock and Greg & Sherlock. Sort of canon compliant in many major turning points. This story is now complete. Enjoy !!

Gregory Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair in frustration as he stood outside the Chief Super’s office trying to make a quick phone call which would probably result in him losing his job if he was found out.

.

.

His hair that had turned grey so early. Genetics combined with one Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes had done the number on them.

When people saw him they saw a Detective Inspector at the New Scotland Yard. A protector. A solid wall of enforcement. The Hand of the Law. The one who could and would throw the rule book at everyone and everything. No drawing outside the lines.

Someone who would ensure arrests, decoys, jail time, court cases, every single dotting of the ‘i’s and crossing of the ‘t’s that would eventually lead to justice.

That kind of power was heady. That kind of power could sometimes be dangerous.

But for a truly good man, that kind of power came with an enormous load of responsibility. Uneasy lies the head and all that……..because what no one who saw Gregory Lestrade realized was that underneath everything lay a vast ocean of caring.

And caring was not an advantage in his profession.

Greg was a man who cared. Yes, his true calling was working for justice and law and order and all that, but below it all the simple truth was that he _cared._

He _cared_ when the women were killed by their intimate partners. He was _gutted_ when children were brutalized. He _hurt_ when he saw young men and women doing drugs and destroying their minds and bodies.

He felt _miserable_ when he saw homeless people, unclaimed bodies. He _burned_ inside when he saw guilty people walk away as they sometimes do from the courts and prisons.

But he _hated_ it most of all when he could not solve a crime.

So he gathered all the cold cases and always had a carton of the files at hand, in the fervent hope that sometimes just his mute desperation to see justice done would somehow unlock some magic and his sheer angry energy directed at unsolved cases would solve them.

And he carried on, day in and day out, finding and apprehending criminals and preventing and solving crimes.

And underneath it all, he continued to care.

.

.

He cared for his wife. Even loved her……..at least he had in the beginning. When maybe she had loved him too. Now………who knows what they really felt for each other but even then he cared. Enough to feel guilty that he could not spend enough time with her. For her. For them together.

He cared for his team and their wellbeing and safety. He cared enough that they sometimes called him Papa Lestrade behind his back.

But even if anyone had had a peep at the vast ocean of caring on which Greg’s ship sailed on a daily basis, no one, no one could have seen that the ship would turn Titanic when an iceberg called Sherlock suddenly floated in.

Greg himself never saw it coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How a certain Detective inspector met a certain future Consulting Detective.

The first time Gregory Lestrade had found him was six years ago.

Emaciated, drugged out and half dead. He had half opened his eyelids as they hauled him away and Greg felt as though those blue-green eyes had almost looked into his soul. There was an arrogant sneer in them that seemed to say _you can’t really save me cos I don’t want to be saved_.

Something made him go back two days later to visit the junkie in the hospital where they had taken him but was told that he had apparently run away from there. Greg’s heart ached at the thought of that young man wandering homeless and starving somewhere and probably likely to get drugged out again.

He had kept an eye out for him over the next few weeks and, as expected, he had eventually found him, strung out again, curled up in a dirty alley outside a club where they had gone out to apprehend a suspect.

This time Greg had asked for him to be restrained to the bed in the hospital till he came to visit. When he did manage to go the next evening after work, the young man had been full of insane rage. He had cursed and yelled ‘deductions’ at Greg and everyone else in the vicinity. He had been nasty and vicious and was spitting mad. He had told the nurse to get help for her suicidal ideations, shouted at the doctor to stop hitting his wife, yelled about spurious drugs. He was un-stoppable.

Greg could almost see the flames of anger emerging from those cold blue-green eyes.

Now, Greg may care, a lot, but no one should ever, _ever_ mistake that for a weakness.

He just stood there like a wall and listened calmly (not even raising an eyebrow at that posh accent that spoke of an expensive education) and when the tempo of the invectives reduced he spoke up and offered the lad an option.

“Hey Sunshine”, he said “Stay clean and I will find something to occupy your brain.”

“Why do you think I need that?” The young man had snarled at him.

“Because I am a copper. I can read people.” Greg had told him calmly.

******************************************

When the young man was discharged into his care three days later (‘Sherlock Holmes’ his hospital papers had said his name was), Greg took him to Baker Street. He knew Martha Hudson since her husband’s drug cartel had been dismantled in Florida and she had come back to stay in London where she belonged. He knew she had an empty flat and had requested it for a few days till he got this young man back on his feet.

Martha had never been involved in her husband’s dirty work but she felt guilty by proxy at the thought of so many young men and women destroyed by him and so she had agreed readily.

Greg told his wife he would be away for two days (“ _Why do you even bother to tell me Greg? Your work always comes first”_ she had said and cut the phone). Sigh.

He wondered to himself why he felt compelled to do this for the young man. He had seen hundreds of junkies during his career at the Met and he had felt a pang of sorrow at all of them. The wasted lives, the hollowed out humans. _One chance was all we got at this miracle and here they were, throwing it away like confetti……..with both hands, just flinging it all away into the ether_.

But there was something …. almost _magnetic_ ... about this one. He felt as though hidden under that dirty skin and foul mouth was something special. Some buried treasure, worth digging through the muck for. He felt some kind of bizarre ‘connection’ for want of a better word. He would never admit it aloud but he still read poetry once in a while and although he wasn’t exactly a big fan of _all_ the new- age _touchy feely_ things but there it was. Something. He did however believe in the sixth sense that coppers were said to have or develop and he trusted his gut instinct which told him that he needed to look out for this young man.

The lad had sulked and fretted all the way there and refused to talk. Greg had insisted that Sherlock take a shower, shave and change into the new clean clothes he had bought for him. (It really was his real name! The D.I had wondered if he had pulled a fast one, but no, the lad had informed him with a drawl. ‘ _Wait till you meet my brother’_ ).

Mrs Hudson had brought up two cups of tea and a plate of her special chocolate biscuits to the living room and Greg sat there, waiting.

When Sherlock finally emerged from the inside room, Greg had to blink twice to absorb what he was seeing. His jaw almost dropped. The transformation was as remarkable as anything from the fairy tales. Was this arrogantly handsome, almost _beautiful_ young man the same one he had just got in? It was like the ugly duckling turning into the swan. The frog turning into a prince.

_Amazing._

A skinny, cranky prince but a royal head turner nevertheless.

‘Cat got your tongue Detective Inspector?” drawled Sherlock in his posh accent, secretly pleased at this reaction.

Greg closed his mouth with a snap. He breathed out slowly.

“Sherlock….. Why do you do this? Why the drugs? Why throw away your life? You are obviously well educated, your family is also probably well off……”

“I get bored Lestrade. BORED. Of this dull ordinary existence. Pointless conversations, futile mechanisms of daily living. Dull…..DULL boring foolish people. Banalities of interactions. Witless questions. Idiotic answers………sometimes I play the violin.” he ended with a non sequitur.

“You need something to occupy your mind……”Greg asked slowly, thinking aloud. An idea forming in his brain.

“Yesss” hissed Sherlock. “Got it in one. I need puzzles, games, mysteries, deep dark, alluring, captivating……..Anything to drown out the call of the drugs. The siren of their bliss, the ecstasy of oblivion……”

“Ok, ok alright!” said Greg holding up a hand. “I don’t need a list of all the illegal things you may be interested in or I may have to arrest you first! Ok….,”he spoke slowly, still thinking aloud. “So I have a box in my office room that could help you.”

“Ooh, is it a box of naughty things?!” said Sherlock suddenly with a sly grin and wink.

“Oi. Shut it you” said Greg good- naturedly. “No, it’s not a kinky box…….though I suppose we have enough handcuffs at the Yard to keep you busy,” he said, tipping his head, steady gaze, letting Sherlock know that sexual innuendo wasn’t going to change the power balance between the two of them.

As a matter of fact, that tip of the head had made Sherlock’s heart suddenly drop a beat and the thought of this delicious grey haired D.I. and some handcuffs did indeed change the power balance between them but not in the ways Sherlock had planned.

_Ah. This could either go very wrong or…..heaven help him……very, very right._

In that very instant something in his brain woke up and he knew with a certainty that he would definitely stay away from drugs if that would keep him near this man.

“So let’s go there _now_ ”, he said in an imperious tone, trying to maintain at least the pretence of the control he wanted.

“Yes we will. But only after you have eaten” said Greg calmly. Still refusing to let him dictate terms.

_Oh Detective Inspector. I am so going to enjoy ordering you around someday_ thought Sherlock _._

“Mrs Hudson wants to bring us some supper. So you will eat and drink and be polite,” Greg said with the lift of one eyebrow.

Sherlock pretended to look out of the window coolly, ignoring him.

And so Mrs Hudson came up with some pasta and pudding. They ate and talked and somehow by the end of half an hour (he had no idea how!) he had agreed to move in and pay rent and she said she loved the violin and that was that.

.

.

The next day a bag of his clothes, his violin, a laptop and a new smartphone was delivered to 221B Baker Street by a smart young woman who emerged from an anonymous black car, barely looking up from her phone.

_Damn Mycroft_ thought Sherlock.

Just then the phone buzzed with a text message.

So the damsel in distress has found a Brave Knight?

{Piss off Mycroft. If this a fairy tale then you are the bad old witch. SH}

Whatever you say ‘ _Princess’_. 

Mycroft’s lips quirked in a small smile and he slipped his phone into his pocket.

.

.

Later that day some men came to the flat. They told Mrs Hudson they had been asked to connect the WiFi and check on the electric grid.

An hour later Mycroft checked the message from his PA.

{1984}

He smiled fondly. Anthea did love her spy code words. Big Brother is watching indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets started on working with the cold cases. Somewhere in his Mind Palace Lestrade becomes Greg one day and he never really notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a slow burn my friends and the chapter count seems to be running away from me! But hey, more of Greg can only be a good thing right ?!

Sherlock tried. He really did. It was impressive.

He showered often, he ate frequently and he tried to be polite to Mrs Hudson.

He went to the Detective Inspector’s office every day and sat there reading the cold case files. It was amazing how much he picked up that had been ignored or missed. To Greg’s unending delight and gratitude, Sherlock flipped open file after file, pointing out inaccuracies, inconsistencies, possible connections, patterns, missing pieces, potential new leads.

Initially Sally Donovan was royally pissed off when a mini avalanche of cold cases got opened but as the results started coming in and names got cleared or new names of the guilty were identified, she started to have grudging admiration for this ‘Freak’.

_It wasn’t really on the up and up to have this ‘civilian’ getting access to sensitive papers._ She also didn’t like the fact that he answered only to her boss nor that her boss seemed almost _besotted_ by him, for want of a better word.

Although she herself had never had any such inclinations towards the D.I, she had recognized that the way to Lestrade’s heart was through the fight for justice and it looked like this young man was well on the way to winning at both.

The two of them spent _hours_ in the office after the day’s work was done. She knew that often on weekends when she called for a case, Lestrade was to be found at Baker Street. She knew his marriage was already on shaky ground and wondered how exactly this could be helping resolve matters.

But hey, as long as the Freak didn’t hurt him, she would try and tolerate him for Lestrade’s sake.

.

.

It was more than two months later that Sherlock was sitting in the D.I’s office, waiting for him to come back from his meeting with the Chief Super. He was flipping through a file, impatiently. He heard Lestrade’s voice in the passage and looked up, already smiling in anticipation, but just then he got called away by someone else and Sherlock was left watching him through the half open door.

Lestrade was listening patiently to some officer who clearly had a hot mess on her hands. Sherlock saw him hold both his hands out, palms down, clearly telling her to _slow down, breathe_ , _it’s going to be fine. Tell me._ He could see the officer visibly relax and explain whatever it was she needed him to know. Greg nodded, paying full attention to what she was saying. Then he turned to Sally who was right next to him, as always. He discussed something quickly, gave some instructions. The officer seemed to be near tears. He saw Greg gently touch her on the side of her upper arm and he seemed to be telling her that she did the right thing and he would handle it from here. He must have told her to go get herself a cup of coffee.

Sherlock watched this small scene unfold and it was like seeing Greg with new eyes. He didn’t even notice when the man shifted from being ‘Lestrade’ to being ‘Greg’ inside his own Mind Palace.

This was a man who was in charge of his team. He would never let them down. He was the boss but also approachable. He always had their back.

_I know he has mine._

They trusted him. He was friendly but he commanded respect. Even the crabby Sally Donovan who seemed to have no time of the day for anyone was always aware that he was the boss and no matter how snarky she got he knew she respected Greg and who knows, may even take a bullet for him.

_Perhaps so would I_.

And as that thought passed his mind, he found himself rather shocked. _Where had that come from?! _

Yes, his brain confirmed. He probably _would_ take a bullet for this man. This man had turned his life around. For no reason that he could understand. He had found him a home, he was giving him something to keep his brain busy, while also serving the course of justice. He was intelligent, thoughtful, funny and even laidback despite his high pressure job.

He cared.

And he had asked for nothing in return from Sherlock.

Well, it’s true that Sherlock was helping him solve cases……..but he knew in his heart that if he decided to walk away tomorrow Greg would not stop him. He would wish him well and ask only that he stay off drugs.

_Why? Why did he care?_

Sherlock could not understand it and it fascinated him. He could deduce motives by reading the files and looking for clues, but here was a man, an open book, and he could not solve this mystery.

Just then the man himself walked in and smiled at him. And suddenly the room felt warmer and brighter and as they sat down with the cold case files, neither of them realized where the next three hours had gone.

.

.

Meanwhile, Mycroft had been keeping an eye on them of course and was curious to see where this was headed. After a month of seeing Sherlock sleeping and eating regularly and going to the Yard every afternoon he started to believe that this Brave Knight may actually slay some of his little brother’s dragons. It was time to pull up the files on this man. He also authorized some money to be transferred from the trust to Sherlock’s account since it seemed more likely that he would now spend it on takeaway than on drugs.

_Was it time to be cautiously optimistic?_

Mycroft decided he would consider that to be distinct possibility.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets to a fresh crime scene. Greg and the wife start couples counselling. But he looked forward to going to work because there he had cold cases and warm smiles.

One day, finally, after four months of working on cold cases, Greg took him along to a fresh crime scene. And oh, it was a sight to behold! Seeing Sherlock like a bloodhound, darting here and there, deducing things from thin air it would seem. Finding connections, patterns, clues. It appeared almost like he was connected to an invisible web whose threads he could track and interpret. It was something truly amazing. And it took Greg’s team half the time to solve the case than it used to.

_Bloody hell_ Greg thought to himself. _This man is a genius! This level of case solving is what I was waiting for my whole life._

But suddenly with that thought came another unbidden as he watched that oddly attractive face in deep thought, curls ruffled, lips pursed in annoyance as he tried to figure out some odd thing that wasn’t fitting the pattern.

_Is he what I was waiting for my whole life?_

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

_He was married. To a woman. Was this just a mid-life crisis? Was this just deep feelings for someone who was clearly a comrade- in- arms? It was not unusual for people to develop such a bond when facing a common enemy or dealing with tough calls on a regular basis. In fact that was the very basis of the solidarity and camaraderie one expected from one’s team in the police force or in the army. Surely this was just that kind of a feeling. The kind he felt for Sally who he would always trust to have his back. The kind many on his team felt for him he was sure._

He shrugged _._

_Stop over thinking it. You are just experiencing a high from having solved this case so quickly._

_We make an unbeatable team._

_Two of Us against the World._

_*************************_

Although Sherlock liked to mock the ‘dull ordinary people and their boring predictable patterns’, the truth was that he and the D.I had fallen into their own fairly predictable pattern.

Most days Sherlock came over to the office and they worked on cold cases after Greg’s work was done. Now that Sherlock was actively involved in crime scenes, they met there and worked on the cases till they solved them or shelved them.

Depending on how tired they were and how late it was, they either ate takeaway or went out for a quick dinner. On some rare days they ended up at 221B and cooked. That is to say Greg cooked, while Sherlock sat on the countertop, dangerously close to the range and spoke non- stop, giving Greg the most ridiculous instructions and entertaining deductions about the cooking process.

Although, most often, when Mrs Hudson heard them come in they found that she just ‘happened to have baked an extra chicken pie and surely you boys would like some blackberry pudding.”

And Sherlock would snort and Greg would smile at her deception and sometimes they would invite her to join them upstairs for dinner. She didn’t always accept but they could tell that she was delighted they made the offer.

Greg never even considered ending up at his own place with Sherlock because ….well…the reality was that he didn’t particularly enjoy ending up there even on his own any more. His marriage was at an all- time low.

At his mother’s request they had started couples counselling. “Don’t give up until you have tried everything Gregory dear”. Coming from a woman who had had an amazingly happy marriage for over 50 years, and had hopes for her lovely son’s happiness, Greg didn’t have the heart to tell her that her marriage had clearly been an exception. All the murders where the spouse was the first suspect, all the cases of domestic violence and all the homicides resulting from extra marital affairs had taken care of any illusions he may have had about romantic marriages and happily- ever- afters.

Despite that he had agreed to the counselling and to his surprise so had the wife but all it seemed to be doing was making the counsellor rich with the obscene amount of fees he was paying her.

In the meanwhile, he woke up every morning actually looking forward to going to work even more than he used to. Because now he knew that no matter how rotten his day went, the evening would always be immeasurably bright.

There would be cold cases and warm smiles.

As Sherlock got more comfortable with him and the work, his snarkiness had reduced. There were more witty repartees, sarcasm and laughter. There were arguments of course but brilliant ones. The man was not only a genius at patterns and deductions but a goldmine of the most insane facts and data. He had recently taken up reading about historical unsolved murders and had been regaling Greg with his theories about the Amelia Ricoletti case.

Basically Greg could not remember when he had ever had so much fun before and had anyone whose company he not only enjoyed but looked forward to as much.

_Yup. That was not something he was planning on sharing with the couples counsellor._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides he wants to be a Consulting Detective. More evenings and moments are shared between the two detectives.Meanwhile, Mycroft seems to have been promoted from wicked witch to fairy godmother.

Some evenings after dinner if they were at 221B Sherlock would play the violin. He was obviously fantastic at it-- _like he was with everything else_ thought Greg. He really enjoyed hearing Sherlock play although he had not been exposed to such music before.

“More a punk rock person in my wild days” he had told the man. “Went with all the Edgar Allan Poe and such readings. Was into poetry if you can believe it! Dressed like a goth too.” he added, smiling at the memory.

Sherlock enjoyed playing for Greg. He liked to see him relax against the sofa, eyes closed, the worries of the day melting away, a small smile on his lips.

_It makes me happy to see him happy._

_It makes me even more happy to be the one who makes him happy._

He wondered what that meant…

After Greg left, Sherlock googled images of goths later that night and almost gave himself a heart attack when he tried to imagine a younger Greg dressed in black leather and riding a bike.

_I wonder if he still has his gear…and how he would look in it._

_Wait, what?? Where did that thought come from?!_

.

.

Then there were some days when, during a coffee break at the Yard, Greg would talk to Sherlock about things beyond the actual case.

“We are all connected Sherlock. It’s a collective consciousness thing. Honestly, any good that we can do helps keep the darkness at bay. Isn’t that why you like solving the cases?”

 _No_ Sherlock wanted to say. _I solve them like puzzles. I don’t care about the people involved. And I solve them because it keeps me from getting bored…………… And I solve them because it keeps you in my life_.

What he said was “Mmm hmm. Have you been watching some new- age YouTube crap again Greg? Mind- body healing stuff? Are we going to be chasing the Illuminati later this evening?”

Greg laughed good- naturedly, fake punching him on the arm. “Shut it you faithless one. When you get to be as old as me you will be doing fucking transcendental meditation if I know you. Never anything by halves is it with you?”

Sherlock smiled at him and rolled his eyes. _No. Nothing by halves Greg._

And suddenly came the thought _\--Just waiting to claim all of you._

What he said in a sarcastic drawl was “You are not old Greg. You are a 20 year old at heart with 20 years of experience”.

“Awww.” said Greg in a mocking way as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Someone has been researching Hallmark cards for a case? Or are you finally getting _romantic_ at the ripe old age of 32?!”

Sherlock felt his face flush slightly and he turned away quickly and walked to the window but not fast enough for the copper’s sharp eyes.

Greg looked at his retreating back. _What had that been about??_

He was trying to figure out what part of what he said might have elicited that reaction when Sherlock turned back and said in a complete change of topic.

“Greg, I have decided that I want to be a Consulting Detective.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s the name I have given to what I do with you. I am a detective like you but I do it as a Consultant. What do you think?”

“Walking in my footsteps Sunshine. Sounds good to me. Can’t imagine you fitting into any existing job title like the rest of us ordinary folks anyway!” Greg said with a half-smile and he couldn’t help the pride in his voice. _This brilliant genius young man was following in his footsteps. Two of Us against the world._

Sherlock was thinking _….. You are far from ordinary Greg. You are my saviour, my friend, philosopher and guide. You do realize that imitation is the best form of flattery._

What he said was, “I am also going to get myself a long coat like yours. But black. I found a good one online at the Belstaff site. And silk shirts. So, when we work together I will be the young sexy Detective and you can be the older wholesome one. Sounds good?” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Hey watch it mate! I can be sexy too you know.” Greg said, sounding mock offended.

Just then Sally walked in with some files and heard that last sentence and looked at Greg with her mouth open. Sherlock started giggling and Greg felt himself flushing.

Sally just rolled her eyes at them both, left the files on Greg’s desk and went back out.

_Boss, I really hope you know what you are doing._

.

.

The next day Mycroft had stopped by at 221B, umbrella and all. He had taken Sherlock to his tailor in Saville Row and had him fitted out for shirts and trousers.

“Am I promoted from witch to fairy godmother now _Princess_?” he had asked with a smirk.

More seriously he continued, “You do know that your brave knight already has a princess in his tower? Make sure that you get home before the coach turns into a pumpkin.”

Sherlock groaned. “Mycroft! Mixing fairy tales is worse than mixing metaphors. Go away. Don’t you have some ogres you need to cast a spell on or something?”

“Hmm sure I do” said Mycroft thinking of the Middle Eastern negotiations due that evening for yet another oil supply crisis. “I just want to make sure you are safe when the spell cast on you has been broken”

And with those ominous parting words, he left and Sherlock played the violin for two hours before his mind was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delectable idea that Greg was a Goth in his younger days has been borrowed shamelessly from Sanguisuga's Awakenings series. Specifically part III. https://archiveofourown.org/series/51724


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crime scene involving dead drug addicts, Greg being a comfort and reciting poetry, combined with also being a steaming hot shirtless boxer......how can one not fall in love?

Sherlock had turned up at the Yard in his silk shirt and long black coat as planned and Greg had to admit to himself that he was indeed far and away the sexy Detective and Greg had no choice but to be the wholesome one. Sigh…but he couldn’t really complain. After all, he was the one who got to see the sexy one in action!

And it gave him a secret thrill when he saw literally everyone who looked at them together do a double take and gawp at Sherlock while the man himself had eyes only for Greg. He would report only to Greg, talk only to Greg at crime scenes and walk out only with him.

.

.

That week they came to a crime scene where three bodies had been found. It was obvious that they were junkies and there had been a knife fight. Probably over the next fix. Probably over the money.

“Who knows….and who really cares?” Sally had said in her usual impatient way. “Scum of society. Wasting our time and the tax payers’ money.”

Sherlock had gone rather still when she said that. Greg noticed it at once. No one at the Yard knew how Greg had found Sherlock and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Come on Sally, let’s show some sympathy here. These lads are dead. No one would want to live like this or die like this if they had a choice. Besides, you should know that addiction is not a failure, it’s a pathology. Come on, let’s get this processed and let’s find out who did it. Justice for all, remember?”

And although he had never once raised his voice Sally looked just a bit chastised at his words and nodded. “You go on ahead Sir, I can handle this”.

Greg left and Sherlock sat next to him in the car, still quiet.

“You ok?” Greg asked him as they pulled out on to the street.

Sherlock didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to go back to Baker Street or come with me to the Yard? Sherlock? ”

“Greg” It was barely above a whisper.

“Yes Sherlock?” a gentle question.

“Why did you help me that day?”

A beat passes.

“I don’t know Sherlock. It just felt like the right thing to do”.

“The right thing to do.” Sherlock echoed and then he fell silent again.

Greg pulled over in front of a café. He used his police privilege to park right there and came over and opened the passenger side door for Sherlock who was still sitting.

“Sherlock? Hey, don’t get lost in that Mind Palace of yours! Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee”.

As they sat with their drinks, Greg put his hand out across the table, just next to but not touching Sherlock’s hand which was holding the cup.

“Want to talk about it?”

“It could have been me Greg. If it wasn’t for you. One of those bodies could have been mine.”

Greg moved his hand just enough that it was touching the side of Sherlock’s hand.

“But it isn’t.”

“Yes. Because of you. I am not sure I deserved to be saved.”

“Hey, stop with that self-pity stuff. Doesn’t suit you. You will be spouting poetry next.” Greg smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “That’s my role remember ?

_The time will come when,_

_with elation_

_you will greet yourself arriving at your own door,_

_in your own mirror_

_and each will smile at the other's welcome,_

_and say,_

_sit here._

_Eat._

_You will love again the stranger who was your self.”_

 

Sherlock snorted. “Thank you” he said.

Greg put his hand over Sherlock’s and gave a quick rub with his thumb. “You are so welcome.”

 “What you said to Sally about addiction…it’s true. I am clean now but I know the drugs are out there, their long shadowy fingers can grasp me any time.” He shuddered. “I am not sure I could resist it forever Greg………”

Greg looked at this man. This brilliant beautiful man looking so wretched and lost and he had an idea.

“You know what Sunshine? Let’s both try to quit smoking. Together. What do you think of that? It will give you confidence in your ability to resist addictions and I guess it can only be good for my health. What do you say?”

And so Sherlock and Greg had their coffee, stopped by at the nearest pharmacy and picked up two boxes of nicotine patches.

Two of Us against the World.

***************************************

Greg had been a boxer since his University days and one day he asked Sherlock to meet him at his boxing club on Saturday so they could then pick up some takeaway and then review cold cases back at the Yard.

“The wife is away at her parents for the weekend.” He told him.

Sherlock was only too happy to oblige. In fact he was so eager that he ended up reaching a bit early and stood outside the main double doors observing through the glass window high up.

Greg was inside, wearing the gloves and punching at a bag. He was shirtless and his strong muscles rippling with every punch, sweat rolling down his face and chest.

Sherlock was mesmerized. _Like hell he was the sexy one....._ He was standing there staring at him for almost five minutes when somehow Greg seemed to have sensed him. He stopped and looked outside through the double doors. Sherlock realized he couldn’t hide there anymore. He came in and waved his hand and indicated that he would sit on the bench and wait.

Greg waved back and decided to stop for the day. He went in for a shower and came out smelling fresh and clean and still riding an endorphin high. They got into his car and drove off to pick up some Thai food for dinner, listening to loud rock music because “Sunshine they are just like you—anti-establishment. You need to learn to appreciate it!”

As they left with the takeaway, the music was off and Sherlock was so quiet during the ride that Greg finally turned and asked him “Cat got your tongue civilian?”

Sherlock remembered instantly the first day when he had said the same to Greg and the conversation about handcuffs. He felt an odd flutter deep inside.

“Just _thinking_ Lestrade” he drawled. “Some of like to do that. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh shut it you” said Greg jovially and soon they reached and settled down at the office. Within minutes they had wolfed down the meal and then they spend the next three glorious hours wading through a complicated cold case involving an abduction and two homicides.

Sherlock was making rapid- fire observations and Greg was busy writing them down on little note papers and on his note pad, interrupting him once in a while with add-on questions or clarifications. At one point some kind of picture seemed to emerge which may give a lead on the perp and Greg felt once again that deep sense of satisfaction at the possibility of justice being served.

He looked at Sherlock who was still flipping through one of the old interview files. He was grateful for that sixth sense and for listening to it that had brought this brilliant madman into his life unexpectedly. He thought of his mates who had sympathized on the phone when he had told them that he had to work this evening and couldn’t come down to the pub. He grinned. They had no idea that he had no use for that sympathy. _He would much rather be exactly where he was right now, thank you._

Sherlock turned just then and saw the grin and raised his eyebrows. “Something amusing _Gregory Lestrade_?”

“Nah,” said Greg, knowing that using his full name that way was Sherlock’s way of teasing him “Just happy. It’s amazing working on these with you. It’s been a long standing dream for me. Justice for the cold cases. The forgotten victims. The unresolved closure for their families. Thank you Sherlock. Your help with this means a lot to me. Two of us against the world.”

Sherlock simply nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak because his heart was so full. Had Greg just said ‘Two of us?!’ _He made Greg happy. But because of the cases. Would he be able to make him happy if they didn’t have this?_

And then because they were both in a good mood, he winked at Greg and said with fake bedroom eyes fluttering _“We can try for some ‘undercover’ operation next time Detective Inspector.”_

Greg had laughed heartily at that and said “Come on, genius, it’s time to go. Will you manage by Tube or taxi? I need to drop in at the pub and meet my mates before I get home. I am guessing you don’t want to join me there?”

“Ugh no” said Sherlock, not bothering to suppress a shiver. “People. Noise. Talking. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

“Well clearly I have a high threshold for tolerance. I am with you every day for the past 6 months and surviving, thank you!” he retorted. “Maybe even enjoying it!” he smiled and shrugged and then they wore their coats and scarfs and left the Yard, turning to go in opposite directions once they reached the gate.

Sherlock walked slowly, turning around once to look at Greg walking away towards the parking lot.

The memory of seeing Greg at the boxing club that evening flashed before his eyes. The feeling of desire that had flooded him. The car ride afterwards where he had been so overwhelmed by the smell of him in the car, a combination of his shower gel and some sweat and whatever else it was that he couldn’t even engage in a conversation.

_It was bad enough that even when he is across the room I can smell him. Molecules of coffee, tobacco, aftershave, car smoke, London. Is it the memory of the smell or the actual aromatic amines wafting on the Brownian motion of air molecules in the room?_

And his slow warm caramel smile.

_Does his smile really glow? Light being sent in packets and waves. Why do I wait for his eyes to find me when I get to the crime scene? Why do I feel something bubbling up inside me when he does catch my eye and smiles?_

_What would he say if I told him that I was falling in love with him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire beautiful poem by Derek Walcott  
> The time will come  
> when, with elation  
> you will greet yourself arriving  
> at your own door, in your own mirror  
> and each will smile at the other's welcome, 
> 
> and say, sit here. Eat.  
> You will love again the stranger who was your self.  
> Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart  
> to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 
> 
> all your life, whom you ignored  
> for another, who knows you by heart.  
> Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 
> 
> the photographs, the desperate notes,  
> peel your own image from the mirror.  
> Sit. Feast on your life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg introduces Sherlock to Molly. But when he realizes what Molly feels, Greg is a bit not happy...and that leads to some introspection.

Since so much of the fresh crime work needed them to visit the morgue, two months in, Greg had taken Sherlock over and introduced him to Molly.

“Dr Hooper is one of the youngest to be in charge of the forensic pathology labs and she is also the best” he said, in his usual generous way, giving her a warm smile.

Molly blushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh you are too kind. And please, call me Molly”.

Greg raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock. “And humble and friendly too. Spend time with her Your Majesty. Maybe some of it will rub off on you”.

Sherlock had half rolled his eyes at that.

It so happened that for a few weeks after that it was Sherlock who went alone to the morgue and Greg had not been able to accompany them.

Molly had developed a crush on him at first sight but her first attempt at inviting him out for a coffee had turned into a ritual of her bringing him coffee ( black with two sugars) and in turn him bringing her a packet of crisps.

 _Ah well_ , she had sighed, _this was probably as good as it would get. At least she had his company almost every day at the lab and he genuinely respected her opinion on the cases even if his manner was a bit abrupt and his manners brusque to the point of not existing._

Molly had overcome her natural shyness and although Sherlock didn’t exactly encourage or enjoy conversations, he had come to respect her expertise and her deep knowledge on the forensic pathology aspects which often helped him solve cases even faster. Since Greg would often be busy with admin and paperwork and other tasks when there was no active crime being investigated, Sherlock had taken to dropping in at Bart’s almost every day and doing some experiments while Molly worked.

Two months after that introduction, Greg came along with Sherlock one day since it was a high profile case and the Chief Super had a fire lit under him to solve it quickly. Two seconds into the morgue and Greg had realized what Molly felt for Sherlock. The shy smile she gave him and the coffee she had kept ready. He turned to look at Sherlock who was smiling back at her and who pulled out two packets of crisps from his pocket and waggled them at her.

_Why did he suddenly have a pit in his stomach at the sight of this exchange?? Sherlock was entitled to be friends with whoever he wanted. Were they just friends? Clearly Molly felt something more for Sherlock than just that._

_Did Sherlock?_

That evening for the first time in a long time Greg was in a cranky mood. Once they were back at the Yard he told Sally off for some minor slip up. He could feel a headache coming on and suddenly he was tired. Bone wearyingly tired.

“Can’t stay late today Sherlock”, he said. “I will see you tomorrow.”

.

.

Greg spent the next few days stuck inside his own head. _The Mind Palace thing must be contagious_ he thought. _I am stuck in my bloody Mind Lockup._

The clues had been scattered everywhere but for the best of Scotland Yard to have missed them so far meant only one thing.

Denial.

The stunningly beautiful creature who had emerged at 221B Baker Street that first day had then metamorphosed into something even more magnificent when he turned out to be brilliant at solving cases. And then had come the actual crime scenes where Sherlock had been mind-blowing at his rapid deductions and his unerring instinct for finding clues. They made a winning team to be sure and he had been thrilled. _Two of us against the world_.

But there was something else niggling him and he tried to suppress it because he was not free to think those things and feel those feelings. He was a good eight years older, _married_ for god’s sake and in a way his senior officer even if Sherlock was not on the staff roll.

Despite all that, he felt things and he thought things, and sometimes …….… _sometimes_ he felt as though they may be reciprocated.

That terrified him because there was one thing he knew for sure.

If Sherlock _ever_ seriously moved to make their relationship something more, he simply would not have the strength to resist him, whether he was free to do so or not. If he was given the freedom to hold him, touch him, kiss him……have him, wild horses could not have dragged them apart. And hang the consequences.

But he was still married. He was the leader of his team at the Yard. He was a Custodian of Justice. A Keeper of the Law. He simply could not betray all those roles by giving in to something which may not even last.

 _And anyway what would Sherlock possibly want from him when he could have literally anyone?_ He had seen the looks he received from everyone wherever they went—crime scenes, restaurants, even Molly at Bart’s had been far from immune.

Of late he had also noticed that once in while Sherlock did or said something which he would have construed as flirting if it had come from anyone else. That wink and suggestion for ‘undercover’ work, the ‘20 year old’ comment, the faint blush on his face.

But he knew that Sherlock had had no close relationships and he also knew that working together so closely and on such intense issues made people fall for each other or develop a crush but that rarely lasted once the situation had changed.

He could not risk anything and lose the chance that all those victims had of getting their cases solved by this genius.

And he would never risk having Sherlock fall apart and go back to taking drugs again.

So he kept his peace and attempted to find some way to be happy with his wife, which was becoming an increasingly laborious task, apparently mutually.


	8. Chapter 8

And so the days passed and became weeks and the weeks became months.

It was a twirling kaleidoscope of crime, passion, frustration, bloody paperwork, chasing, calling, interrogations, deductions, more bloody paperwork, interspersed with banter, fondness, teamwork and most importantly--ensuring justice.

.

.

One day during a crime scene assessment, Sherlock suddenly deduced that the killer would have been hiding in the conservatory and rushed there only to be attacked by the killer himself. Luckily the coat provided some protection but he was slashed on his thigh and there was blood everywhere before the sounds of their scuffle brought the rest of the team rushing in and arresting the man.

As he compressed the gash using Sherlock’s own scarf, while waiting for the paramedics, Greg said to him furiously, “You don’t take risks like that, Sherlock!”

“But he would have gotten away!”

“It doesn’t matter!!”

“What happened to justice above all?” drawled Sherlock, glaring at him.

“Not at the cost of your life.” Greg said, eyes blazing. “Pull a stunt like this once more and I will ban you from crime scenes.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and looked away.

The paramedics arrived and took over. Greg spun around and left without waiting for him.

.

.

The next day was Sunday.

Both of them were simmering with anger. And with something else.

Greg because of realizing once again the depth of his feelings when he saw the younger man endangering himself and Sherlock because of what he felt was unjust behaviour on Greg’s part.

_It’s supposed to be two of us against the world and you just left me there with the paramedics._

He was determined to not go to the Yard the next day but it was as though Greg had read his mind. He texted him at 8 am on Monday morning. _On his way to work_ Sherlock thought.

See you at 4 pm at the Yard? GL

Sherlock smiled. He could accept this as an apology.

He turned up at the Yard at 4pm and started reading up the cold cases as usual. Greg joined him when his work was done. Not until after dinner did Greg mention fleetingly “Hope the wound is healing well”.

“Hmm” said Sherlock in reply.

And that was that.

.

.

Meanwhile Mycroft decided that it was time he met the Brave Knight and possibly engage in some jousting. He turned up on his black steed. Greg dismounted his white one. Mycroft had thought it was probably not appropriate to kidnap one of Scotland Yard’s finest, so he just made himself comfortable at the café where Greg usually picked up his morning coffee.

Greg walked in that day to an empty café, a different barista behind the counter and one dapper man in a three piece suit sitting at the front table, legs crossed at the ankles and a rolled up umbrella in his hand. His lips were doing something which was probably meant to be a smile.

Greg stopped where he was and stood at alert. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

_Firm voice, no nonsense but still open for whatever the conversation was going to be._

_Well done_ thought Mycroft.

“How many drug addicts have you come across in your career Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

“Quite a few,” said Greg, frowning a little, unsure where this was going.

“And how many have you found a flat for?”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Who is asking?”

“Depends on the answer.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize Qi has taken to finding its participants by ambush in deserted cafes. Will the most interesting answer get the highest points?”

Mycroft had to suppress a smile. _Intelligent and sense of humour_. He was beginning to understand the appeal.

“It could make for an interesting process certainly.” he replied, tilting his head in contemplation. “I should mention it to Stephen when I meet him next. For now let’s say it’s someone who has a vested interest in a certain person residing at 221B.”

Greg didn’t back down an inch.

“Tell them that this interest would have been better expressed when the certain person was lying in a dirty alley outside a club one year ago. More timely if nothing else. Assuming the interest is best served by him staying alive.”

There was now an undercurrent of anger in Greg’s voice. He looked at his wristwatch pointedly and said, “Now if you will excuse me I have some _real_ work to do. Solving crimes and ensuring justice. Without my morning coffee.”

And he left.

Mycroft sat there for half a minute and thought that had been a fairly impressive performance. _Brave and loyal too. He could see him getting a seat at the Round Table._

.

.

Greg didn’t say anything about this to Sherlock till after dinner that day.

“Oh him.” Sherlock replied. “I am surprised he took so long to get to you. Must be slipping in his old age. Did he eat all the cake at the café?”

“What?! What on earth are you going on about Sherlock?!” Greg asked, mystified and annoyed.

Sherlock sighed. “That’s my older brother Mycroft. A ‘minor official’ in the British Government.”

“What?! You have a brother who works for the Government?? And then why were you where I found you?” Greg asked in astonishment.

“Do you really think I can’t avoid someone if I want to? The craving was too strong. I was too bored. And there seemed to be no end in sight to the sheer stupidity of the human race. So I tried to silence the sounds.”

Greg was silent for a beat. “So you do have family and a home.” Statement. Not question.

Sherlock gave him a look and said thoughtfully. “Yes I do. A big family. You. And Mrs Hudson and Molly. And my home is 221B.”

Greg couldn’t help but give him a smile at that. “Not Sally?” he asked, teasing him.

“Ugh, no, that would be my step family,” retorted Sherlock with a cheeky grin and they both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Knights of the Round Table are from Monty Python's Holy Grail :) Check out their song if you need some comic relief from this angst fest the muse is leading me to....


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had spent so much time together over the past few months, more than a year in fact.....that Sherlock could no longer remember what it felt like to be ‘alone’ alone, the way he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter today because its the weekend :) Your comments are most appreciated !

One day it was late as usual and they were both at Baker Street. The case had been closed, dinner eaten and dishes cleared away. The very eloquent dust particles inside 221B also seemed to have settled down for the day and the late evening was wrapped quietly around them.

Greg seemed reluctant to leave. He sat there, leaning against the back of the sofa, resting his head on his clasped hands. His sleeves were rolled up and the end of a nicotine patch was peeping out. His eyes were closed.

Sherlock sat on a chair across him, legs tucked in. He looked at the matching patch on his own forearm. He felt childishly pleased at the sight. _Same as mine_ he thought. He looked at Greg and wondered where they were headed. He had no experience with relationships and never had any interest in them either. People were either stupid or boring.

But this Detective Inspector had proved to be neither. He was intelligent and thoughtful and he was interesting. He was clearly born to command and he was wired to care. That made for some very fascinating interactions when they were on the crime scenes and made for even more captivating conversations when they were alone.

Alone. But together.

They had spent so much time together over the past few months, more than a year in fact.....that Sherlock could no longer remember what it felt like to be ‘alone’ alone, the way he used to be.

Even when he was physically alone now he felt like he was connected to Greg. Not just a text or phone call away but he realized he ran a kind of dialogue with him in his Mind Palace all day long. Like a ticker tape.

If he woke up from a bad dream he could almost feel Greg’s hand on his back saying _Relax, Sunshine. Breathe. It’s fine. I’ve got you._

If he felt faint from hunger he could hear Greg chuckling at him. _Transport needs fuel lad. Eat something!_

If he felt a craving for cigarettes he could see Greg shaking his head and holding out his arm, reminding him of their promise. _You promised Sherlock! Don’t go cheating on me!_

He had never forgotten the image of the D.I and the handcuffs that he had imagined that first day but he had never pushed for anything because he knew that Greg was, above all, a good man. He was still a married man and he would never ever consider such an offer.

Sherlock realized suddenly that it was not just the rejection he feared but the disappointment that he would see in Greg’s eyes if he made such a move on him.

Even the thought of it gave him a chill.

.

.

Greg opened his eyes just then and gave a slow smile.

“You are thinking too loudly Sunshine! What happened?”

 _You._ Sherlock wanted to say. _You happened_.

_And now I want to crawl into your lap and kiss that smile._

He paused for a beat. He blinked.

And then what he said was: “It’s late and you are tired. Why don’t you sleep here tonight? The room upstairs is empty and for some reason Mrs Hudson keeps the bed made.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Let me text the wife.”

And so Greg spent a night at 221B Baker Street.

Not the way Sherlock wanted but he was forcing himself to remember that apparently patience had its virtues.

Baby steps. Walking before running.

.

.

Greg had gone up the stairs and lay down on the bed, wondering how he had ended up here in life. He had been sitting on the sofa, eyes closed, thinking that if life offered nothing more than this—his work and Sherlock’s company, he could live happily ever after. When he had opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock he could have sworn he saw something in the younger man’s eyes which had made his heart skip a beat.

In the span of that beat he had had an entire discussion with himself and reached a decision inside his head that if something happened he would ……. agree to it? Go along with it? Welcome it? And hang the consequences.

But then Sherlock had simply shown concern about him being tired and suggested he sleep in the upstairs room. Not quite how he had anticipated spending the night with Sherlock, he suddenly realized and his face burned with shame.

He needed to put a stop to these ridiculous feelings and thoughts and behave like the responsible pillar of society he was expected to be. He was married. He was a custodian of the law. He was expected to always _do the right thing._ These desires, these feelings, when he was not free to act on them was certainly not the right thing. He slept fitfully and woke up early.

When he went down the stairs he saw Sherlock curled up into the sofa. It took all his will power to not just lie down next to him and curl up to sleep again. He stood there just looking at the young man, fast asleep, head tucked in and bare toes pushed against the armrest.

What would it be like to wake up to this sight every morning..…

After five minutes of just standing there he finally forced himself into the kitchen and started to make tea.

.

.

Sherlock realized he must have dozed off on the sofa because he woke up the next morning to the sounds of Greg making tea. When he went into the kitchen and saw Greg, rumpled from sleep, rubbing his eyes and giving him a soft half smile as he handed him a mug of tea, he knew with perfect clarity that this is exactly how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life.

Now he only needed to wait for the D.I. to work it out in his own time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confides in someone who cares. “I am in love with him Molly and he can’t love me back.”

Later that year when the Chief Super recommended Lestrade’s team for the annual award for the highest case closure rate, they were all over the moon. Greg wanted to give credit where it was due but Sherlock downright refused to even be acknowledged.

“Don’t be ridiculous Greg.” he said. “I only solve puzzles. You are the one who deals with the cases and the crime.”

The awards were to be given at the annual Met Gala and of course the invitation had a plus one.

Sally had actually asked Sherlock in her own stern way. “Hey freak, you can come with me as a plus one if you like. Don’t get any ideas. I am just asking you cos you might like to come and you won’t be getting an official invitation.”

Sherlock thought it would be fun to surprise Greg by going there and so he agreed and they kept it a secret.

Sally and Sherlock reached at the exact time and sat at the assigned table.

Sally greeted him with a “You don’t look too bad.”

“Thanks”, said Sherlock. “You have also managed to be less unappealing than usual”.

She snorted.

They were sitting there nursing their drinks when Greg came in with the wife, from the door across the hall.

When Sherlock saw him come in, arm in arm with her, he had no idea what came over him. _For a genius he really could be an idiot sometimes._ He knew Greg was married. He knew it was a plus one event. _What had he really expected?_ It was all well and good in theory when he knew that there was a wife, but the reality was that he spent so many hours with Greg every day and although he wanted more and knew he couldn’t have it, he had never been confronted with what was it that lay between them, in the flesh and blood.

Seeing her, the legitimate ‘plus one’ for Greg, made him go hot and cold all over. He knew there was no way he would be able to sit through the entire evening and not do anything that would seriously make life difficult for Greg.

“Sally, I have to go” he said abruptly and just left.

Sally had not even been able to open her mouth to ask why before he was gone. She turned to see where he had been looking and saw her boss and the wife, both looking dapper, walking arm in arm, making introductions.

She blinked. The situation was _way_ worse than she had imagined.

_Holy crap, Boss, what the hell have you got yourself into? _

_***************************_

The next day Sherlock didn’t go to the Yard.

Greg texted him around 4pm when he didn’t see him there. There was no response.

The next day again he didn’t go to the Yard.

This time Greg called him, “Hey Sunshine, what’s up? Are you coming around today? There was a cold case that the next district has sent over since we are now solving them at a faster rate than anyone else in history! Want to come over in an hour? Dinner is on me today.”

Sherlock was torn between never wanting to meet Greg again and wanting to meet him right away. He had no sensible excuse for not going but he told him he was unwell.

“Oh you should take rest then. I will call you tomorrow.”

.

.

The next day Molly texted him.

_(Fresh leg with club foot. Interested?)_

He looked at the message. He texted back.

{Case related? SH}

(No. Nothing dealing with the Yard so far.)

_No chance of bumping into Greg then_ Sherlock figured.

{Ok. See you in half an hour. SH}

He bought them two packets of crisps and he turned up at the lab.

Although Molly Hooper dealt mainly with dead bodies and had very few living people she hung out with socially, she had become attuned to this gorgeous genius who was probably asexual or who knows what but who she loved in her own quiet way anyway.

As soon as he came in she sensed that something was wrong.

“Are you ok Sherlock?” she asked him.

It was a sign of how much he was not ok that he actually honestly shook his head to say _no I am not._

She patted the chair next to hers and said “Tell me.”

And Sherlock did. He didn’t even know what words to choose. It was so humiliating to hear himself say it all aloud but he had to. And once he started he couldn’t stop.

He looked broken and his voice was hoarse when he finally said “I am in love with him Molly and he can’t love me back.”

“Oh Sherlock” Molly said softly and because she was this goddess of a woman, she never once let him realize that this was exactly how her own heart had been broken, and by none other than himself.

She held his hand gently, knowing he didn’t like being hugged.

“I am so sorry Sherlock, but does he even know that you feel this way?”

“I don’t know Molly. You know I don’t understand how people say things like this to each other, or show this to each other. I don’t want to disappoint him and I don’t know what I will do if he rejects me. Which he will Molly. You know him. He will always do the right thing. And being with me is not the right thing.”

“But how can you carry on like this Sherlock? How long will you hide from him? The work is everything to you isn’t it? And also to him? I have heard that his marriage isn’t very happy but sometimes people stay together anyway because it is easier than being alone. Think about it. Find some way to tell him something at least.”

He nodded miserably.

“Sherlock” she said softly, “it has been two of you against the world for the last two years. Trust that.”

.

.

So eventually the next day when Greg called, Sherlock had planned to go and meet him but when he heard his voice on the phone he found that he couldn’t. He lied again and said he was still not well.

“Ok.” Greg said and when he was done with work he picked up a Thai takeaway with soup and turned up at 221B Baker Street. He used his spare key to let himself in and walked up the stairs listening to the strains of the violin.

He smiled. _Clearly the genius was feeling better now._

He walked in and said “Hey Sunshine, feeling better now? I missed you!”

Sherlock almost dropped his violin and just stared at him.

_How had he not anticipated this?? Three days of being unwell. Obviously Greg was going to drop in. They had not been apart for so many days at a stretch even once since the day they met two years ago._

“I thought I saw you at the Met gala and then you disappeared. I thanked you for your contribution to the award. You should have come up on the stage. You deserved the credit.” He gave him a warm smile.

Sherlock looked at him and suddenly decided it was now or never.

They say humour is the best form of defence he thought, so he picked up the handcuffs lying on the coffee table that he had nicked from Greg earlier that week and looked at him with an eyebrow raised and said, “There are other rewards you could give me if you really want to.”

A few months ago Greg would have laughed this off or shut him up.

But there was no humour in Sherlock’s eyes.

There was something else. Something darker and more powerful and oh so _fucking dangerous_.

It terrified him as much as it made him feel things and he found himself flushing and his ears went hot.

“Shut it Sherlock.” He said grimly.

Sherlock looked at him and of course in the blink of an eye the genius saw everything and drew his conclusions.

“Why should I? I want you. You want me. We are both adults.”

“I am married Sherlock.”

“Ah. So you are not denying that you want me. She has multiple affairs that you ignore. You break up and reconcile every few months. Your moral code allows you to spend almost all your free time with me. Maybe even fantasize about me. But you draw the line at touching me. What do you expect from me?” he asked angrily, lashing out, wanting to hurt Greg as much as he was hurting. Feeling angry at himself even as he did so because he knew it wasn’t really Greg’s fault.

Greg just looked at him, shaken to his very core. He had known for a while that this was coming but he didn’t realize he would not know how to face it when it showed up.

He tried speaking but there were no right words to say.

Eventually he said “Sherlock that is not fair. I have never lead you on and you know that I am not free.”

“But you can be”.

“Yes Sherlock I want to be but I can’t promise. And you--- look at you! You are young, you are brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful. Why would you want to be stuck with an old greying man like me? Don’t do this Sherlock. Please. What we have already is better than anything else in my life.”

Even as he said it he knew what the answer was going to be.

“NO.” Sherlock said, his eyes burning with desire and fear and also fury. “I want more. I want YOU.”

Greg stood there and looked at him for a minute, took a deep breath……found that there was nothing he could say.

For a genius Sherlock had a very poor understanding of negotiations and how things worked in real life. They were both too full of difficult emotions right now to have this conversation. They would pick it up after they had both cooled off. He needed to leave right now. That was the best option.

He turned around and walked out. _We need to take a break to sort out this mess. I will come back tomorrow._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't cope and big brother comes to the rescue. As always.

Sherlock stood staring outside the window for half an hour after Greg left.

_This is not how it was supposed to go. This is NOT how it was supposed to end._

_It was the end, wasn’t it?_

_How did ordinary people deal with such emotions on a daily basis? No wonder there were so many homicides_.

He felt enough rage and pain to set London on fire. He would have loved to set the Thames ablaze too. He wanted everything to burn. Burn the heart out of it, the way his heart was burning, to turn to hot ashes, to be destroyed.

_What was the point of breathing anymore? Of existing? What would he do tomorrow when the sun rose and the day began and he had to live through it knowing that Greg probably hated him now? That Greg had walked out. That Greg had been sad and angry and …….he had turned his back on him and left._

He slid down to the floor and screamed soundlessly, pulling at his hair.

And almost two years to the day that he had been found in the alley outside the club he pulled out the loose tile in the bathroom, tied a rubber tourniquet and injected himself in order to silence the mocking voice in his brain.

_Idiot. He is a married man. A Detective Inspector. At the peak of his career._

_What would he want from an ex-junkie like you? With no job, no income, nothing to offer._

_Did you really think he would love you back?_

_Mycroft was right as always. You are a stupid, stupid boy._

_Emotions are a chemical defect on the losing side._

.

Before he lost consciousness, he picked up his phone and with shaking hands he called Mycroft.

“Mycie?”

Mycroft had been watching Sherlock and in fact as soon as he saw him fall to the floor and pull at his hair, he was already on his way. _Danger night!!_ He was in the car when he took the call from his little brother. He felt a cold pit in his stomach. Sherlock had not called him by that name since the incident with Redbeard.

“Please Mycie, take me away.” his little brother pleaded. “There is too much pain. Too much noise Mycie I can’t do this”.

“Oh Sherlock I am already on my way to you. Please, please hold on till I come.”

Mycroft urged the driver to go faster and he sat there, his heart beating furiously, till they finally stopped outside 221B and he almost flung himself out of the car, the ambulance right behind them.

The front door was open since he had called Mrs Hudson. He and the two paramedics raced up the stairs. When they finally left after half an hour, taking Sherlock with them, Mrs Hudson was still waiting downstairs, wringing her hands.

Mycroft went over to her and explained that he was going to take Sherlock away for a while. He knew from the last experience that this could take long and he offered her a six month advance on the rent and asked her to keep the flat.

“Is he ok?” she asked him, almost in tears, because she had really grown fond of him over the last two years and thought of him as her boy.

Mycroft didn’t know how to answer this.

But she was already speaking again. “They had a bit of a domestic I think”.

He nodded, not bothering to confirm who the other person was. _Gregory Lestrade._

“Don’t worry Mrs Hudson. I will take care of him”. _Like I always do. “_ Hope to see you again soon under better circumstances.”

*********************************************

Two days later, Mycroft sat in his own bedroom, looking at Sherlock who was curled up on his bed. He could not bear to see the pain on his little brother’s face, but he could not bring himself to say _I told you so_.

He blamed _himself_ for having missed the signs that there was more to the younger man’s feelings for the D.I. He knew that the man may have reciprocated the feelings if he was free to do so but under the circumstances he could not really blame him either.

So he offered Sherlock the only solution that he could help with (making Greg’s wife disappear was fleetingly considered as an option and rejected). He had an uncomfortable flashback to the time 25 years ago when his baby brother had been in a similar gut- wrenching agony of pain and Mycroft had found it un-bearable to look at.

He needed to start talking to Sherlock and walking him through the difficult but now critical process of re-structuring his Mind Palace once again. He sat in front of him fingers steepled below his chin, back resting inside the deep armchair. Sherlock was sitting up now and resting on pillows against the headboard.

“Walk to the room you have for him brother mine”.

Sherlock was quiet. Looking down at his feet.

“Sherlock? You do want to do this?” Mycroft asked gently.

 _Yes_ the younger man nodded. “It’s just that……there isn’t a room for him. There is an entire floor.” Tears were streaming down his face. “Of all the people in the world, I found myself a _good man_ Mycie, a loyal man, a shining light. And me the prince of darkness. On the side of the angels but never one. I am dark matter and destructive energy. Fatally attracted to this heart of gold. I will destroy him with my association. I know he will give in one day. I know I will consume him. And we will be trapped like those bodies in Pompeii but I will be the lava and Greg the ashes.”

Mycroft held his breath at the sheer magnificence of the image his brother had just painted with his words.

“Are you sure you want to do this Sherlock? There are other ways of coping with heartbreak you know”. He smiled sadly. “Ordinary people do it all the time. Poetry? Music?”

“Drugs” said Sherlock in a flat voice. “Silence.”

“Ok”, Mycroft said briskly, _he needed to take charge_. “Let’s get started. If it’s an entire floor it will be difficult to erase completely but we can still shut it down and create a diversion so you don’t have to move past it again. What do you see on that floor?”

“It’s warm Mycie. It glows. It’s safe,” he whispered. “It feels like…… honey and caramel…..and smells of smoke …….and tea….It’s home.”

And so Mycroft walked him through the floor, shutting down all the doors, double locking them for safety and creating a diversion route to make sure that he would not wander down those corridors even by mistake.

It took them the better part of four months.

Mycroft was shaken to his very core at the proof of the depth of Sherlock’s feelings for this man. Every so often a door would resist being closed and it would undo days of work as he walked his little brother back again. Every so often something would trigger off a flood of emotions. Someone smoking a cigarette, a deep laugh, a rough voice, even the smell of a certain takeaway or the strains of some music. Sometimes even the time of the day was dangerous. Sherlock got restless in the evenings because for two years he had had someone by his side during those hours. He started to hate eating dinner because when he looked up from his plate he couldn’t see the person he wanted sitting beside him.

They would have to work harder to build the barriers and eliminate the associations.

“But my work is important Mycie. I don’t want to forget it.”

So Mycroft had done his best and since he really was very much cleverer than Sherlock, it had been quite a good job. Like a surgical procedure, he had carved around the trauma and kept most other things intact.

Mycroft knew that the method was not completely fool-proof and from what he had heard, ordinary people in love tend to not be very logical. He knew his brother was not ordinary at all but _who knew whether love was a miracle or a curse_ and what it had done to him in quiet corners of his Mind Palace that even he was not aware of.

_You can erase them from your mind, but getting them out of your heart is another story._

He sighed.

There may still be some triggers, some leaks, some unexpected flashbacks, but on the whole, it was probably safe for his brother to go back now.

.

.

Eventually when Sherlock came back to 221B after six months, he remembered everything about the Detective Inspector Lestrade. Every case, every single detail.

But he had deleted Greg. And he had deleted emotions.

Mycroft had been right as always. _Emotions were a chemical defect on the losing side._

And he had lost already.

So badly that he could not afford to make that mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can erase them from your mind, but getting them out of your heart is another story. Quote from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. https://www.scoopwhoop.com/Eternal-Sunshine-Of-The-Spotless-Mind-Quotes/#.pd5rlqy71


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg reflects on what happened that day. Sally is angry as hell that Greg has been hurt.

Back to that fateful day: Greg POV

Greg had walked out of 221B, his mind reeling with the confrontation. He went down the street and stopped. He should go back. _But what would he say?_ What _could_ he say?

_And in any case would Sherlock listen to anything?_

He had looked at him with such fury and passion that Greg had no doubt of what would actually happen if he went back into that flat. That would definitely be a point of no return. He would not be able to resist anything that Sherlock asked for. He was surprised he had managed to resist and walk out even when he had.

_And if he gave in, then what would happen tomorrow?_

He walked a few steps back to the flat as he was thinking. Then he stopped and again walked back in the opposite direction. He remembered Sherlock’s observation made disdainfully a while ago-- _Oscillating on the pavement. A love affair._

He pulled at his hair in frustration. He needed to get away and think. He HAD to go away.

He went home, exhausted and more than a little terrified and angry. There was too much emotional turmoil to allow him any sleep. He could not even get himself to lie down and spent the entire night sitting on the sofa, working through all the possible ways he could even initiate a rational discussion with Sherlock. He had no trouble accepting that he could (and would) end his marriage to be with Sherlock.

 _But what then? How long would this last?_ _And how would it affect their working relationship?_ _What would happen if things went wrong and they often do? What would Sherlock do then?_

He would never want to see Sherlock get hurt. He needed to think this through calmly. He needed Sherlock to be calm enough to allow a conversation.

He would call him first thing in the morning.

.

.

Greg dialled Sherlock’s number at 7 am, not sure what he would say to him but he needed to say something, apologize, explain…. anything, something.

“This number is no longer in service” said the automated voice.

He just stared at his mobile. _Sherlock must have switched his phone off._

He reached the office and called again.

“This number is no longer in service” said the automated voice.

So, as soon as the morning update meeting was done, he left the Yard and drove down to 221B.

He unlocked the front door and climbed upstairs slowly, not sure what to say when he met Sherlock but he found the flat empty so he went down and spoke to Mrs. Hudson. She seemed relieved to see him and explained that Sherlock’s brother had come and taken him away last night.

Greg was taken aback. That seemed to be a bit of an over- reaction! _Even though his brother did seem to be a pompous overbearing fellow when he had ambushed him in the café._

Mrs. Hudson was still talking. “The paramedics were also with him. Oh and he offered a six month advance on the rent.”

 _What??!_ Greg was unable to believe what he was hearing. _Paramedics?? Six month advance on the rent?? What had happened?_

He cursed himself.

_He should have known better than to leave him alone like that. Fuck. What had he done?! Nothing by halves with Sherlock was it. Had he overdosed?? Where was he?! How was he??!_

He thanked Mrs, Hudson and left and just before he walked out of the front door, he sagged against the wall and stood there for a minute, wanting to punch something. Wanting to go back in time. Change the way the evening had gone.

_Oh Sherlock, sweetheart, what have you done?! Where have you gone??_

He barely realized how he got back to the Yard, his mind still stunned by how fast things had gone so wrong.

He considered finding Sherlock’s brother and calling him but realized he had nothing to say to him and so he left it at that.

Sally had asked that first week when they went to a crime scene “Isn’t the Freak coming?”

The tight lipped shake of Greg’s head saying _no_ had made her worry.

.

.

Greg missed Sherlock every single day. He woke up looking forward to going to work and within seconds he would remember that what he actually looked forward to was gone. It felt like half of him was missing. It felt like a punch in the gut when he would turn to remark on something or smile at something odd or funny and find that he was looking at a stranger’s face or most often at nothing.

As the weeks passed, a sense of melancholy and guilt enveloped him that he could never quite shake off.

_He should have known better. Sherlock had never been in a relationship before as far as he knew. He had no idea that this was not the end, just a hurdle. He had no idea how badly Greg had wanted what he did and how terrified he had been mainly because he didn’t know if they would both survive the end if it all went badly. And then it had all gone badly anyway._

_He had lost what he never wanted to lose. He had hurt the one person he always wanted to save from being hurt. The one precious thing had been shattered to pieces._

_What could he do now but regret?_

_*************************************************_

Two weeks later they needed an autopsy report urgently from Molly and Sally saw Greg hesitate.

“I will go there sir. Be back in an hour” and he had looked her gratefully. He didn’t want to have any discussion with Molly or go to St. Bart’s alone.

Molly had been trying to contact Sherlock for two weeks and had been getting so worried. _What could possibly have happened?!_ Greg had also not come over. She didn’t know him well enough to just call him and ask and she had spent these days just being miserable and wondering what had gone wrong. So when she saw someone from the Yard coming in she was alert. It wasn’t someone she had met before and she looked rather stern but Molly couldn’t resist asking. After she had shared the preliminary findings and Sally had noted the down, she asked her softly, “Uh, Sergeant Donovan, how is Sherlock?”

Sally had given her a ferocious frown at that question and Molly almost shrunk back into herself.

‘Freak’s missing’ Sally growled.

‘Oh’, said Molly, miserably. ‘And Greg…..I mean D.I. Lestrade….’

‘What about him?” asked Sally.

‘Well, they come here ….together…often…and it’s been a while since I saw them’.

“Yeah, well, probably going to be me coming down from now on. Gotta go. Thanks.”

.

.

After two months with no further news, and her boss looking more lost and simply sadder than she ever wanted to see him look, Sally had been unbelievably angry at Sherlock.

 _How dare the Freak do this to Greg?_ _The best man she had ever been lucky to work with. He had had his back, mentored him, cared for him and this is how he was repaid. Fuck that. Let him turn up again at their crime scene and she would make sure he was told what is what._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in pink....with the backstory as we have read so far. Greg's thoughts are in italics and underlined and Sherlock's are italics in brackets. Wonder how well the Mind Palace re-structuring is going to hold up.......

Another two months had passed and they were at a press conference. Greg hated doing these and Sally always made sure she was at his side since she knew that.

She read out the press note that the department had prepared, “The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.”

A reporter asked the most obvious question of course. “Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?”

Greg looked frustrated. He knew that somehow they were linked but _he wasn’t a sexy genius in a black coat was he, who would swirl about the crime scene, find clues in air molecules apparently and come up with deductions. He was just the wholesome grey haired half who had been left behind._

_No longer two of them against the world._

_Just him._

_Alone._

Swallowing his anger which still flared up every time he thought of how badly it had ended with Sherlock, he replied, “Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ... “

The reporter interrupted him asking incredulously, “But you can’t have serial suicides!” Greg sighed. “Well, apparently you _can_.”

Another reporter chimed in “These three people: there’s nothing that links them?” Greg confirmed,” There’s no link been found _yet_ , but we’re looking for it. There has to _be_ one.”

Everybody’s mobile phone trilled a text alert simultaneously. As they looked at their phones, each message read:

**Wrong!**

Donovan looked at the same message on her own phone. She looked up and said “If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them.”

The reporter was baffled. “Just says, ‘Wrong’. “

Sally said brusquely “Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.”

The reporter persisted “But if they’re suicides, what are you investigating?”

Greg tried to explain. “As I say, these ... these suicides are _clearly_ linked. Um, it’s an ... it’s an unusual situation. We’ve got our best people investigating ...”

Everybody’s mobile trilled another text alert and again each message read:

**Wrong!**

The reporter said “Says, ‘Wrong’ again.”

Greg looked despairingly at Sally.

A third reporter asked “Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?”

Greg tried to be careful. “I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was _clearly_ self-administered.”

The reporter persisted “Yes, but if they _are_ murders, how do people keep themselves safe?”

Greg snapped “Well, don’t commit suicide.”

The reporter looked at him in shock.

Donovan covered her mouth and murmured a warning. “Daily Mail.”

Greg said “Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.”

Again the mobiles trilled their text alerts, and once more each message reads:

**Wrong!**

But Greg’s phone took a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looked at it, the message read:

**You know **where****

****to **find**** **

******me.** ** **

**SH**

 

His head was spinning _._

_ Sherlock??! Sherlock was back?? _

He put the phone into his pocket and looked at the reporters as he stood up.

“Thank you” he said and left.

 

************************

He drove to 221B and stepped out of the car.

He stood on the pavement for a second, looking up at the flat he had not entered for over four months now.

He saw Sherlock standing in the window, looking down. He took a deep breath, used his key to let himself in and went up into the living room, not knowing what to expect.

Sherlock barely turned around and asked him, “Where?”

_ Yes, hello to you too Sunshine and welcome back.  _

He said,” Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”

Sherlock asked “What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”

_ No, I  _ wouldn’t _have come to get you_ _because you would have been WITH me when the case was called in._

He said “You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah.”

“This one did. Will you come?” _Are you really back? Will you come to crime scenes with me again?_

“Who’s on forensics?”

“It’s Anderson.”

“Anderson won’t work with me.”

_This is a new one. What do you mean??_ Greg said “Well, he won’t be your assistant.”

“I _need_ an assistant”.

_Really? Since when??!_ He asked “Will you come?”

Sherlock replied “Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”

“Thank you.” _Thank you whatever runs this universe. For bringing you back to me._

Greg turned to leave and saw John and Mrs Hudson. He nodded a hello to both as he leaves.

_ Who is this man? Maybe Mrs Hudson’s nephew is visiting?  _

_. _

_. _

Later at the crime scene, Sherlock has turned up with that man from 221B and is telling him to wear the coverall.

_ What the fuck?? Why did he bring Mrs Hudson's nephew along? _

Greg asked “Who’s this?"

Sherlock replied “He’s with me.”

Greg looked really annoyed now. “But who _is_ he?” _Seriously Sherlock who the fuck is he??_

Sherlock replied, even more annoyed. “I _said_ he’s with me.”

( _He is my human shield. I cannot be alone with you, came a voice from some hidden passage in his Mind Palace. What was that about?!)_

Greg narrows his eyes at him. “I’m breaking every rule letting _you_ in here”. _After you buggered off and disappeared from the face of the earth, the Chief Super wouldn’t let me hear the end of it._

Sherlock looked at him with that haughty expression only he could pull off “Yes ... because you need me.”

Greg stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly. “Yes, I do. God help me”.

And I can’t even tell you how much Sunshine.

******************************************

Later that day Sherlock hurried up the stairs, John following him and found D.I. Lestrade sitting casually in the armchair facing the door.

Other police officers were going through Sherlock’s possessions.

Sherlock stormed over to him “What are you doing??!”

_(Somewhere in his Mind Palace one floor wobbles, like a mild earthquake has hit. Seismic shock. Low on the Richter scale but a small window had been rattled open. Isn’t this where Lestrade always sits? But….why would he have a habit of sitting here inside Sherlock’s flat though? It makes no sense……)_

“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.” “You can’t just break into my flat.” “And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t _break_ into your flat.”

_ I have always had a key remember? _

Sherlock looked at him, outraged. “Well, what do you call this then?” Greg looked round at his officers before looking back to Sherlock innocently, “It’s a drugs bust.”

The new man almost laughed. _What was his name? Oh yes, John. Dr. Watson._

Dr Watson said “Seriously?! _This_ guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!

Sherlock turned and walked closer to John, biting his lip nervously. “John ...”

The new man turned to Greg and said “I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.”

Sherlock said “John, you probably want to shut up _now_.”

Greg turned around and spoke to the officers. “Keep looking, guys.”

Then he turned to Sherlock. “Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down”.

Sherlock spoke angrily. “This is childish”.

Greg laughed. “Well, I’m _dealing_ with a child. Sherlock, this is _our_ case. I’m letting you in, but you do _not_ go off on your own. Clear?” 

_You know it has always been by my rules._

Sherlock stopped pacing and glared at him. “Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?”

Greg looked at him in the eyes and said softly “It stops being pretend if they find anything”.

Sherlock almost yelled at him “I am clean!”

_(A dim light flickers in one dark, dingy corner of the condemned floor of his Mind Palace. Lestrade is there and there are drugs, plenty of drugs. And hospitals and something else. Something reminds him that he is clean because of Lestrade. But that makes no sense………does it?)_

When Sherlock yells “I am clean!” Greg nods.

Then he asks “But is your flat? All of it?” _You think I don’t know what you did the last day we met?_

Sherlock still protested. “I don’t even smoke.”

(Surely Lestrade _knows that_ _….said a voice from somewhere inside his Mind Palace. He has had this discussion with you sometime earlier. It was an important discussion…. You were sad and he comforted you…..and there were nicotine patches)_

Sherlock felt the need to unbutton the cuff of his left shirt and pull it up to show a nicotine patch on his lower arm.

Greg felt irrationally pleased to see it. He pulled up the right sleeves of his own jacket and shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away and they both pulled their sleeves back down again. He felt something stir inside his Mind Palace again.

( _This was important. That they both had patches. Something about the two of them. Together. Something like that….But what was it??)_

Greg shrugged. “So let’s work together. _Two of us against the world. Remember?_ We’ve found Rachel.”

.

.

Sometime later as John realizes that Sherlock has walked out of the flat and taken a cab, he turns to the D.I and says “it’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab.”

Sally Donovan standing beside Greg, tuts in irritation _. “_ I told you, he does that. He bloody left again.”

She looks at him significantly and says _“_ We’re wasting our time!”

John calls the phone which rings out.

Sally marches in and confronts the D.I _. “_ Does it matter? Does _any_ of it? You know, he’s just a lunatic, and he’ll _always_ let you down, and you’re wasting your time. _All_ our time”.

He stares at her for a long moment as she holds his gaze, then he sighs. _“_ Okay, everybody. Done ’ere.”

Back at the flat, as the other police officers leave, Greg picks up his coat and turns to John. He speaks, almost to himself _. “_ Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?”

_ Why did you leave Sherlock? Four months ago. Why did you just leave me? _

John shrugs “You know him better than I do”.

Greg looks at him oddly and says “I’ve known him for two years and no, I don’t.

John looks bemused. “So why do you put up with him?”

Greg sighs. “Because I’m desperate, that’s why. _You cannot imagine the depths of my desperation Dr Watson._ And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky he may even be a good one.” _And I will always believe in him._

*******************************************

Much later that evening when the cabbie has been shot dead and Greg and the cops have arrived Sherlock attempts to deduce who may have shot the serial killer. He stops half way and says “Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.”

Greg is taken aback. “Sorry? What? Where’re you going?”

Sherlock walks towards John and says “I just need to talk about the-the rent.”

Greg tries once more. “But I’ve still got questions for you.”  _Are you back for good? Where do we go from here?_

Sherlock turns back to him in irritation. _“_ Oh, what _now_? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket!”

_(A door opens far down the corridors of the barricaded floor of the Mind Palace. Something about the black coat being sexy. Why have they taken away my coat? What does Lestrade have to do with my coat…….)_

Greg looks at him thoughtfully for a moment _. “_ Okay. We’ll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go.”

He smiles sadly as he watches Sherlock go _._

_ I can wait till tomorrow. Your new friend just killed a man to save your life. I guess things are going to be different now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to the fabulous transcripts by Ariane de Vere as a reference.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kidnapped child screams on seeing Sherlock. Greg is forced to arrest him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You need to know the details of the BBC episodes to stay with the plot here, so to speak 

In the coming days Greg wonders often how one can feel betrayed when you were never promised loyalty in the first place.

How do you listen to the sound of heartbreak, every day, one piece at a time?

_ Even in the chaos and noise of a crime scene, it rings loud in my ears. _

How do you find the strength to cope with the hurt every time he forgets your name like he deleted it? Deleted _you_. Deleted those precious moments you had together.

_ Maybe they were never precious to him. _

No, he knows that is not the truth. They were equally precious to him.

He has cut them off like a wild animal in a trap would gnaw off its own leg to save its life.

For the hundredth time he regrets having walked out of the argument that night.

_ What you get to do now is you watch as he glows in the company of someone else. Waltzes in and out of your crime scenes.  _

_ Gives someone else the half smile that was once yours. Shared on the quiet evenings when you relaxed on the sofa and he played the violin.  _

_ You atone by allowing him to order you about, steal your handcuffs.  _

_ You take whatever you can get just to know he is alive and well and safe. _

__

And then suddenly one day he isn’t.

 

******************************************

A kidnapped child screams at the sight of Sherlock. That starts a slippery slope which eventually leads to the Chief Superintendent asking for Sherlock to be arrested. Sally is triumphant. _Freak had it coming._

She is extremely annoyed that Greg is still trying to protect him, defend him. “Can’t you see it boss?!“

The D.I is still trying. “With all due respect, sir ... “

The Chief Super thunders at him. “You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade! Now go and fetch him in right now!”

Greg still hesitates _. Arrest Sherlock? How could it possibly have come to this??_

Greg stands up and leave the room. He looks at Sally and with deep sorrow in his eyes he asks her _“A_ re you proud of yourself?”

Sally retorts “Well, what if it’s not just this case? What if he’s done this to us every single time?? How can you still trust him after the way he behaved with you?!”

 And she grabs her coat from the coat stand as she goes past.

Greg stops for his own coat, and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration as he stands outside the Chief Super’s office trying to make a quick phone call which would probably result in him losing his job if he was found out.

He has never quite warmed to John Watson but he has had to maintain a friendly front because it seemed that he and Sherlock were joined at the hip and well, that was that. He could hardly call Sherlock directly so he called John now and warned him that they are coming to arrest Sherlock.

********************************

When they reached 221B Mrs Hudson was also upstairs.

Greg greeted her as John tried to block his way. “Have you got a warrant? Have you?”

Greg was irritated. “Leave it, John.”  And he stood in front of Sherlock while one of two armed officers attached handcuffs to his left wrist. “Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.”

Sherlock blinked and tried to clear his head.

_(Lestrade and handcuffs. A heavy door swings opens slowly somewhere inside the forbidden floor of his Mind Palace. There has been something between them involving handcuffs. Something difficult. Even painful. What was it?! He feels a dull ache. Not on his wrists where the handcuffs are digging in. But somewhere deeper inside. Why?? )_

The officer marched Sherlock out of the door. Mrs Hudson stood there in tears.

John said to Greg in outrage “You know you don’t have to do ...”

But that just made Greg very, very angry. He stepped close to John and points at him sternly _“_ Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.”

Then he turned and left the room but as he was waiting downstairs suddenly there is chaos.

John has been handcuffed for punching the Chief Super and Sherlock pulls a gun and holds John hostage and suddenly they are both fugitives.

_What the bloody HELL Sherlock!!_ Greg thought to himself.

The Chief Super is yelling “Get after him, Lestrade!”

Greg glared furiously at Sally as she began to head in the direction the two men have gone. Greg was a lot slower in getting moving.

He saw Sherlock hold out his hand to John, who took it and they ran.

Greg just watched as Sherlock seemed to disappear from his life once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Ariane De Vere for her fabulous transcripts of all the episodes!   
> https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/31651.html


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRF. TEH. And Greg.

It was clear that the threat posed by Jim Moriarty needed to be taken more seriously than they had imagined.

Mycroft has been in discussion with Sherlock. Thirteen contingencies have been planned for. Some of them were likely to require Sherlock to fake his death and go into hiding for a long time. Possibly not ever return if the dangers facing him later become too great.

Possibly not ever return if…….

Mycroft is well aware of this and has never had his mask as the Ice Man threatened the way it has been currently, by the very real possibility of losing his little brother.

But as ever, he must be the one in control and remind them of their duties and tie up loose ends to the best extent they can.

“Sherlock? You know that Lestrade called John to warn you and delayed arresting you and delayed going after you when you ran.” He continued carefully because he had no idea how well the re-structuring had held. “You know that he has always cared. I think you owe it to him to let him know what we are planning. After all Molly does know already. I understand that John needs to be convincingly mourning, but maybe we can tell the Detective Inspector.”

“No.” Sherlock said sharply. “Lestrade cannot know.”

_(Again something in his Mind Palace is sneaking out of a closed door. He can see a warm glow emerging from the gap below. The thoughts trail along ‘He will keep you safe’. ‘He will have your back’. Who is the ‘he’? Lestrade? That doesn’t make sense……why would he do that….)_

When he saw Mycroft’s expression he sighed in frustration. “You always misunderstand me. Somehow I know that I can’t tell him because he will never let me go through with it. He will move heaven and earth to stop me or somehow try to protect me. And you know that the endgame is not my safety but it is to stop Moriarty.”

Sherlock was silent for a beat. Then he said “He does not deserve to be given a false hope that I may come back because if I don’t then I think that may truly destroy him ----knowing that he could have stopped me.”

_(I have these strange deep feelings for him which I don’t understand and I would never want him hurt)._

Mycroft only nodded but his heart was heavy.

_Oh brother mine, you have truly become the good man Lestrade wanted you to be. Pity that your lives have always been so out of step._

*******************************

A few days later, Sally hesitated outside Greg’s door.

“Sir? There has been a suicide at St. Bart’s….”

“Not our division Sally” he said, not even looking up from his file.

When there was no response from Sally he looked up and saw her face.

What he saw there made him feel like a black hole was opening up under his feet and he was being sucked into it, slowly but irrevocably.

_Sherlock_ he tried to say but he couldn’t get any sound out.

She heard him anyway and nodded.

Greg felt as though the entire planet had tilted for a moment. Sounds were distorted and everything was blurred. His blood was ringing in his ears.

“Sir? Sir!!” He heard Sally calling him in a panic. Someone was shaking him.

“Stop it” he said, blinking. “Stop it! Take me to him.”

.

.

.

Later he sat at home, numb with shock, unable to even understand what had happened and if it was real. He did not attend the funeral and he did not visit the graveyard.

**_ It was all his fault!! _ **

He had said _Two of Us against the world_ and he had walked out on him that day. He had fucking WALKED. OUT.ON.HIM.

He had rejected the love being offered by this brilliant madman. He had abandoned him and then suspected him and even arrested him.

_ Was there a special place in hell for him? _

He hoped there was because there was no punishment great enough.

The skies were always grey now. Relentlessly grey. Overcast. There never seemed to be any sunshine. Never any sunshine now that he was gone.

“The stars are not wanted now;

put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

 

******************************************

He had often wondered if Sherlock and John had been something more than friends. The man was certainly grieving as though they may have been. But then one year had turned to two and one day he had seen him in the company of a woman. Seemed to be a charming blonde and he seemed enthralled by her.

_Good for you Dr Watson I suppose. Moving on._

As for him, the thudding of his pulse was just a reminder that his broken heart was still beating. There was the taking of a sudden deep breath as though he had forgotten how to breathe. And when he did, he wondered why he needed to.

His heartbreak was like the Stonehenge of his life, sitting there on display, unmoving and mysterious but essentially meaningless and probably without purpose, as people pass by in their cars and point it out to each other.

Not even recognizing what you have lost because they never knew you had it in the first place.

**************************************

Greg had always attempted to do the right thing in his marriage. He had tried counselling, he had tried ignoring her affairs, he had even pushed Sherlock away.

_What had he got for his pains?_ He gave a bitter laugh. The marriage had crumbled faster than a pillar of salt. Sherlock’s absence had ironically caused more damage to his marriage than his presence had.

Once Sherlock was gone, Greg was simply unable to care about what happened with his life. He signed all the papers his and her lawyers asked him to sign. Since they needed to sell the flat so she could get her share, he moved into a smaller flat that somehow became available and was in fact more convenient to commute from.

He sat alone in his office for hours and hours after everyone had left. Sally had tried to sit with him after the first week. Kind as ever even in his grief he had not been able to tell her to leave but the haunted look in his eyes had given her the message that she was not welcome there.

He had barely acknowledged the humiliation of being stripped of his rank and removed from field work. Anderson had not met his eyes in months.

For three months he came and did his work and left, a dead man walking.

“He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.”

********************************************

And then one day he needed to go to Bart’s for following up on some paperwork. He was reluctant but he didn’t have a choice really. He met Molly. Initially he was awkward with her but then he remembered that she and Sherlock had been friends. So he talked. Once he started he couldn’t stop. There was no one else he could talk to anyway.

He said he felt guilty that he had played a role in this. He knew exactly how he had helped with the cases. He had taught him for fuck’s sake. _How could anyone believe these lies?_

He had sat there holding his head in his hands, frustration and anger radiating from every pore.

Molly had listened to him patiently and with sympathy. She was more than a little terrified that he would somehow figure out her role in the Fall. After all he had proved again and again that he truly had been Scotland Yard’s finest. But fortunately for her he was too wrapped up in his own misery.

She had finally said “Greg if you want to do right by him, if you want justice, well…. you do still have access to all the files. Find the evidence. Maybe all they need is proof.”

And so he had spent the next one year doing exactly that. It had given him a purpose. _Perhaps there was some redemption possible for him after all._

It was difficult since this was not his official assignment but he worked like a man possessed.

And slowly his old team regrouped around him, in solidarity. They had known this man their entire career and they had trusted his instincts and they had put their faith in him. He had mentored them and he had had their back and slowly people remembered again. Slowly his task became easier as old friends went just that _little bit_ out of their way to get him the papers he needed, copies of lab results, cross checking of alibis, scans of photos appearing in his email from unknown random IDs.

.

.

Mycroft watched all this with growing admiration and sorrow as the former D.I seemed to be on a one man mission to clear Sherlock’s name. He hardly went home, he hardly went out, he hardly met with people socially. Mycroft wondered if there was any parallel universe or other lives……..and if there were, he sure hoped that there would be two Gregory Lestrades in them because he might want one of them for himself too.

_Someone to watch over me….……._

What a treasure this man was, with his heart of gold and his hair of silver and Mycroft may have heaved a deep sigh……. _Oh Sherlock. I hope you can do right by him when you return._

_***********************************_

And then one day, two years after the Fall, the first poster appeared.

 

I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES

 

Greg saw it on his way to the Yard as he turned the corner from the Tube station. He stood there, hands deep in his coat pockets, freezing in the cold wind, looking at it and for the first time since Sherlock had gone, he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

That evening after work he visited Sherlock’ grave for the first time. It was as though he had felt he did not deserve to mourn this man he had loved and betrayed and led to his death. But now he could at least beg for forgiveness, having finally done right by him.

He looked at the name on the headstone and at that moment all he wanted to do was to be buried, _right now if possible_ , under there with the man he had loved.

It had finally taken him an hour to find the strength to walk away from it.

.

.

That same week Anderson had had the courage to speak to him and share his theories. Greg felt sorry for the man. But none of this penance or this repentance was going to bring Sherlock back. Greg truly felt un- anchored in this world. Listening to Anderson’s conspiracy theories had somehow made it even more crystal clear that this was over.

Sherlock was redeemed but gone.

.

.

He looked at himself in the mirror the next day and stared at his grey hair.

_What had Sherlock said to him once?_ “You are 20 years old with 20 years of experience”.

_Oh Sunshine, if only you could see me now. I feel at least 200 years old now on the inside and with the desire to live not even 200 days more. I am so tired Sherlock. So alone….._

He picked up the nicotine patch box as usual and suddenly was filled with an insane and irrational rage. He had done everything right. He had saved him, mentored him, loved him, protected him, tried to stay faithful, and what had got him???

_This???_

_Standing here alone, in a small cold flat, looking at a box of nicotine patches that reminded him of the one true love of his life._ Not that he needed anything to remind him _. They said ‘better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’._

_What kind of shit person made that up??_

_Had they ever fucking REALLY lost what they had loved??_

He threw the box of patches against the wall. And just for good measure threw his empty tea cup against the other wall. The sound of that shattering gave him a fleeting moment of peace.

_Fuck this universe. Fuck doing the right thing._

He marched out and bought a packet of cigarettes. And just to show the universe how much it could go fuck itself, he refused the low tar filtered ones and asked the disinterested woman behind the counter for ‘the ones that would kill him faster’.

He went to get his car and decided to light up there and then, in the parking lot.

He put a cigarette in his mouth, cupped his hands around it and started to light it when suddenly he heard a voice.

“Those things will kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funeral Blues  
> Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
> Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
> Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
> Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
> 
> Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
> Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.  
> Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
> Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
> 
> He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
> My working week and my Sunday rest,  
> My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
> I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
> 
> The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  
> Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  
> Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;  
> For nothing now can ever come to any good.
> 
> W.H.Auden
> 
> The first time I heard it was when it was recited in Four Weddings and a Funeral, decades ago. I still think its the most beautiful and devastating love poem.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TSoT, TST. And Greg.

Greg couldn’t believe that the universe had conspired to give him this.

Sherlock back from the dead.

He had hugged him like his life depended on it. _Which it did really_.

And then the bastard had called him ‘Graham’ and walked away.

 _It’s fine. He could live with that_. He grinned fit to break his face in two. _YES he could live with that!!_

He should have known that the madman would have pulled off some such IDIOTIC trick. Him and that brother of his. Hell. He didn’t care what tricks they played.

Sherlock was alive.

That is all that mattered!

******************************

It was hard watching him continue to have eyes only for John and to behave as though Greg was a distant acquaintance. But it was fine _. It was all fine._

In his absence, Greg’s old team had been trying out Sherlock’s methods of deduction and doing quite well thank you. Greg had been reinstated and had his team back. Sally was promoted but still working with him. They had been pumped up about arresting the Walker brothers for their bank robberies and just as they were going to make the final arrest, Greg’s phone chirruped. Twice.

He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the message.

HELP.

BAKER ST.

HELP ME NOW.

PLEASE.

SH

 

“It’s him isn’t it?” asked Sally, disbelieving at the audacity of the man to do this to Greg and appalled at Greg for letting him do it.

Because it was inevitable really wasn’t it? In which universe would Sherlock send a message saying ‘help’ and Greg wouldn’t respond with the full cavalry?

.

.

A few minutes later he stood in 221B watching Sherlock hold up a book on Speeches for the Best Man, even as the rotary blades of the chopper chugged outside the window.

Greg didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

***********************************

He met Molly for drinks later that day.

“It’s poetic justice I suppose,” he told her. “When he wanted it I was not free to give it. Now I am single and it seems that he is not free to give it.”

Molly sighed. _This must be some past life karma where she was destined to play matchmaker for all these wonderful men with no one coming her way. Unless they were actual murdering psychopaths like Moriarty_. _Look at Greg—handsome, charming, intelligent, the embodiment of ‘good’ ness. In love with Sherlock. Sherlock apparently in love with John. John in love with Mary. Huh. Maybe she should try for Mary she thought suddenly with a mental eyeroll. Then they could all go full circle!_

Bringing herself back to reality she realized that Greg still didn’t know much about what had really transpired before the Fall.

“Greg,” she asked hesitantly. “Did you know that Moriarty had snipers trained on people whom Sherlock would die to protect?”

“Yes. I heard he was threatening to kill John.”

Molly looked at him and said softly, “And Mrs. Hudson. And you.”

“What?!” Greg was stunned. And suddenly angry. “What are you saying Molly?”

“It’s true Greg. You were one of the three he had threatened to kill.”

Greg had had no idea. He was furious. “Sherlock had no right to choose my life over his. Why didn’t Moriarty threaten to kill you Molly?”

And so Molly had haltingly explained the entire deception and her role in it. Greg had sat there and listened with shock turning to disbelief and then to rage.

Molly had shrunk back at his expression and he had explained hastily, “I don’t blame you Molly. You did what he wanted you to. I may have done the same if I was in your place.”

NO he thought to himself. _NO I BLOODY WELL WOULDN’T HAVE. I would NEVER have let him go off alone to bring down an entire bloody criminal syndicate. I would have moved heaven and earth. I would have had his back. Two of us against the world._

__._ _

__._ _

__._ _

Greg felt like he was falling down the rabbit hole. So many insane things happen over the next few months that he was left reeling.

Sherlock made a wonderful speech as Best Man at John’s wedding to Mary. He said he never expected to be anyone’s best friend. And then he stumbled over his words.

_(The Mind Palace has been giving trouble of late. Some padlocks are failing and some doors have been sliding open. Memories and feelings are seeping out. Tendrils are growing down the passages and blocking the diversions paths. He never expected to be anyone’s best friend. That was true. But he had been more than that to someone. I have had something even better than a best friend…..he remembers somewhere. It was closer. It was stronger. It was deeper. It was safer. It was my sanctuary. Why can’t I remember it? It’s just outside my grasp.)_

He stumbled in his speech. He looked into the distance and saw Molly and Lestrade sitting together. He blinked.

Greg and Molly looked at each other and look down.

.

.

The wedding was followed by Sherlock being shot and barely surviving.

Greg had nightmares for months after that. He had wanted to demand a meeting with the brother in the British Government and ask him what the hell he was up to if he couldn’t keep Sherlock safe?! But he would have been given a cold look and a thin smile because, after all, who was he to ask such questions? He was just a D.I who occasionally consulted Sherlock for his cases.

Then had come Christmas, which Greg spent at his mother’s home, watching re-runs of her favourite TV shows and eating her delicious apple pie.

Then the Watson baby arrived and Sherlock seemed to dote on her.

And then one day, shockingly, Mary threw herself in front of a bullet to save Sherlock.

 _If it hadn’t been Mary I would have done it_ thought Greg.

One day when he was feeling more lonely than usual, he visited her grave and put flowers on it.

.

.

Mycroft had been reviewing the level 1 and 2 surveillance tapes for Sherlock and John & Mary and saw a fleeting glimpse of Greg at Mary’s grave.

 _What was that all about?_ But even as he asked the question he knew the answer. He was thanking Mary for saving Sherlock’s life.

_Oh brother mine! Maybe it's time we had at talk...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg hardly showed up in Season 3 and seemed a bit lost whenever he did turn up.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TLD. And Greg.  
> About time someone held John accountable for his brutal violence in that episode.

Some weeks later, Greg was called in when Sherlock was admitted to the hospital being managed by Culverton Smith. He had been on drugs and apparently hallucinating. He had then attacked Culverton Smith with a scalpel.

Greg was interviewing John Watson in the police interview room.

 _“_ Did you know?”

John said vehemently,” Of _course_ I didn’t.”

 _“_ You didn’t see him take the scalpel?” _“_

 _Nobody_ saw him.”

“So you didn’t know what was about to happen.”

“Of _course_ I didn’t know.”

 

 _Greg sat back in his chair with a tired sigh. “_ I keep wondering if we should have seen it coming”.

 

**************************************

 

Molly kept the phone down and bit her lip. This made no sense.

_John?? How could he do this? And to Sherlock?? The man who had ‘died’ to save his life? Who had sacrificed so much at every step just to keep John safe and happy?_

She didn’t know what to do with this information. But somehow Sherlock needed to be protected. She herself had examined him just the earlier day and seen him almost on the brink of death with his drug use. It had been bad enough when she had helped him fake his death but there was simply no way that she could sit by and watch him _actually_ die.

She picked up her phone again and sent a text. {Can we talk?}

When there was no reply for five minutes she texted again. {It’s about Sherlock.}

The phone rang almost immediately.

“Sorry Molly I was a bit tied up so I couldn’t answer your first text. I…”

“It’s ok Greg. I only sent the second message because it may be urgent. I don’t know any more really. But I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What has happened Molly?” Greg asked, fully alert but after the whole best man speech fiasco he was a little wary about over reacting to the drama in Sherlock Holmes’ life.

“Can we meet somewhere?”

Greg looked at the wall clock. _Two hours till the workday ended._ “Can it wait till 6 pm?”

“I don’t know Greg.”

‘Ok’, he decided.’ I am coming over to Bart’s. 15 minutes. Wait for me’.

As promised he was there and when she saw him push through the double doors, worried but so commanding, she knew she had made the right decision.

She told him, softly but rapidly what she had heard from a friend who worked at the morgue in Culverton Smith’s hospital. She saw Greg’s face show despair when she told him about the way Sherlock had pushed himself to the brink of a breakdown with the drugs, and finally dark with rage when she told him the final piece of news.

“John did WHAT??!” He had almost exploded. “I just had that man in the police interview room and he never………”

“I don’t know Greg” Molly said, twisting her hands. She was also very agitated. “This is what I heard. I am not sure what is going on there but I thought you would be the right person to help.”

“You did the right thing Molly. I am going there right now.”

“Can I come with you?” She asked him.

“Ya sure, ride with me”.

He drove the car and parked and practically ran up the stairs.

They barged through the locked door, caught Culverton in the act of trying to smother Sherlock and after arresting him they set in motion the paperwork to have Sherlock transferred to Bart’s. Molly agreed to wait with him till the transfer took place.

Greg was unable to wait there any longer. He was seething with rage. He could hardly hear Molly speak because of the blood pounding in his ears.

“Greg, please. Please don’t do anything that will be come back to hurt you. Greg….” Molly bit her lip to stop herself from crying.

_What had happened to their world? Sherlock almost dying, John hitting him, kicking him, and now Greg on a rampage. Everyone was going to get hurt….._

Greg got into his car and drove like a madman till he reached the pub where John had been seen. He went in, spotted him almost immediately, went up to him and punched him with a right hook before John could even register who he was. He pulled out his badge and showed it to the pub owner who was about to come to break them up.

Greg was clenching his fist to stop himself from throwing another, hell another ten punches at this man. This man who had kicked Sherlock, till he BLED?!

He had kicked the man who had died for him?? He had hurt Sherlock ??!  
Greg's entire body was shaking with rage which he was trying to control.

“With best friends like you who needs enemies?” Greg roared at John, punching the table. “Stay away from Sherlock if you know what’s good for you John. If I hear that you have been anywhere within a five kilometre radius I will bring a fucking restraining order and report you to the council for potential child endangerment so they can take Rosie away from her violent parent. Do you get that? DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT???”

And satisfied at the utterly terrified expression on the face of the ex- army doctor, he had turned and left and raced his car back to the Yard, still seething with rage and consumed by guilt.

_Oh Sherlock. This is all my fault. I should have been there with you. All these years……all this pain._

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft helps Sherlock remember.

Mycroft had been away in Hong Kong for a high level trade agreement negotiation and also to oversee a secret intelligence op involving the South Sea. But his people were always aware of the movements of Sherlock and by extension John. He received a call from one of the informers who had been witness to the pub scene. He listened and wondered what had driven the man with the patience and forbearance of a saint to do this to Sherlock’s best friend. Something was seriously wrong and he realized that it was time he took decisive action since his little brother was clearly not capable of even self- preservation at this point.

.

.

Meanwhile Greg would show up outside Sherlock’s room in the hospital every single morning before work, talk to the doctors about his progress, look through the glass door upon the man and then leave.

He never went in.

.

.

After five days when Sherlock was finally sent home, Mycroft came over and sat in the living room of 221B having politely accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock just sat there without any expression on his face. Impassive. Almost frozen.

Not looking at Mycroft.

After half an hour of silence, he finally spoke, still looking away and his first question to Mycroft was “Do you know what has happened to John?”

Mycroft looked at him gravely and said, “Brother mine, we need to talk. I was wrong.”

Sherlock’s eyes flickered at that. He looked at his brother.

_Was this the first time in his entire life that he had heard Mycroft say these words?_

Mycroft took a deep breath and spoke. “Alone does not protect us Sherlock. Greg has protected you from the day you met. He has done nothing but right by you. He will continue to protect you whether you like it or not. Whether you _want_ it or not.

But I think it is time, brother mine, to return to a relationship that has really always been yours to have but he was not free to offer. You died for him once. Maybe now it is time to live for him.

And maybe some other friendships have run the course and need to be let go of.

Remember that true love is unconditional. Think of who has been there for you at every stage, no matter how you have behaved with him. He put his job on the line for you time and time again, and you know that his work is his life. He would even put his life on the line for you if needed. He would rather cut off his hands than raise them on you.”

Sherlock’s shoulders sagged. He slithered down from his chair and sat on the floor, hugging his knees. “Mycie, I haven’t been honest with you.” He whispered.

Mycroft looked at him, his usual expression of worry combined with something else that Sherlock had never noticed before. It was a look of such tenderness that he had to choke back a sob. How blind he had been to those who truly loved him and how mistaken he had been in who he gave his heart to.

Mycroft tipped his head at him, encouraging him to speak.

“I have been having these odd feelings. Deep feelings. A sort of craving. A longing. A memory of something better, something stronger that I had. These are very fleeting but I noticed that these happen more often when I am with Lestrade. I want to be around him but it is confusing because I don’t understand why. And he just looks at me like …..I don’t know. Like he …” Sherlock struggled to explain what he saw in the D.I’s eyes. Something sad and distant. Something a bit not good.

Mycroft moved to stand near his brother. He kept his umbrella leaning against the chair, opened the buttons on his jacket and sat down on the floor next to Sherlock. At the sight of his dignified brother trying to squat down into that position made Sherlock smile and by the time he was seated he was giggling like a schoolboy.

Mycroft gave him a twisted smile, glad for anything that brought a laugh to his little brother’s ravaged face.

“Sherlock, you wouldn’t remember but there is a reason for what you are feeling.” And he explain to him that they had worked together to re-structure his Mind Palace and there were things hidden away that were trying to emerge. Finally he said firmly, “And I think the time has come to un-do that and for you to face up to and hopefully claim what could be your true happiness.”

He turned and looked at Sherlock, now almost trembling beside him.

“Do you trust me?” He asked and Sherlock had nodded.

So Mycroft texted Anthea to clear his diary, send them some takeaway, hung his jacket carefully over the chair, undid his cuffs with elaborate care and rolled up his sleeves. It was time to re-boot the forbidden floor of Sherlock’s Mind Palace.

He was not sure how that would work and how long it would take, since shutting that floor down had taken close to four months. But it turned out that remembering the love was much, _oh so much_ easier than the forgetting.

At the smallest of prompts and reminders the love spilled out ….radiant, accepting, unconditional. By the evening, when the sun was setting, Sherlock had remembered everything.

Greg. His Greg. And the Two of them against the World.

And with that came the memories of the past 4 years where Greg had seen him with John, living with him, working with him and had kept his distance. But he had always had his back. The only one whose first reaction on seeing him after his return from the Fall had been a crushing hug. A welcome back with no questions asked, no demands made, no judgement.

He had brought the full cavalry to Baker Street when Sherlock had asked for help. That explained what Sherlock had thought then was an un-characteristic over reaction from the usually un-flappable D.I.

Just un-conditional love.

The look he had given him during John’s wedding, the fact that he had come alone, the expression of despair, the hesitation.

It was all suddenly so clear.

He felt overwhelmed with guilt at the realization that what he had done to protect himself from heartbreak had in fact caused so much heartbreak for the man who had loved him and saved him, again and again.

When he had calmed down somewhat Mycroft also told him how Greg had worked alone and against all odds on proving Sherlock’s contribution to the solving of their cases. How he had not visited his grave even once till the day the first poster appeared showing the public move towards believing in the detective.

Mycroft sat with him later that night, urging him to eat, sitting with him when he slept from the exhaustion of these revelations, more gentle in his words than Sherlock ever remembered him being since their childhood when he had doted on his younger brother. _How could he ever thank him?_ He too had had his back for forever and Sherlock had never appreciated it. He vowed to do better in the future.

They had all suffered too much already and while some of it may have been necessary, it was now time to say enough.

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he remembered that it was an important day and it took him a few seconds to remember why. Mycroft seemed to have stayed the night and left after making the morning tea. There was also a plate of cookies from Mrs. Hudson.

_Another person he needed to be kinder to in the future._ He sighed. The heart was a difficult thing to maintain. No wonder Mycroft always said caring is not an advantage. Of course, he had never added that the troubles are worth it anyway!

Sherlock spent the day pacing around his flat, nervously trying to decide what he was going to say to Greg. _Would Greg even allow him to speak or offer an explanation? He couldn’t really blame him if he just told him to get lost. What would he do if that happened?? It would be the same heartbreak all over again. But this time he knew he was stronger. He would fight for it and he wouldn’t give up. Not this time around._

 

****************************************

Greg was sitting at home, alone, nursing a drink, still angry, a week after the incident in John and Sherlock. It was getting late and he was almost dozing off on the sofa when he heard someone trying to break in or open the lock.

He put his drink down, sat up at high alert and waited.

_Ex-wife? Break-in? One of Mycroft’s men?? Who the fuck_ …………and then he saw a familiar face and he slumped back down and closed his eyes.

_Right. So the time of reckoning. He is going to be angry with me now-----Why did you hurt John…..I killed his wife….. He is grieving……. It was my fault._

_Well, bollocks to that._

He clenched his fist and unclenched it. He took in a deep breath, opened his eyes and waited.

Sherlock walked over to where he was sitting.

Greg steeled himself for what would come. He didn’t think he would assault him. Verbally maybe. He would berate him, accuse him, insult him. If he did he would just listen to the younger man and when he was done he would ask him to leave.

But he never expected this.

Sherlock came within a foot of the sofa and suddenly went down on both knees in front of him. Head bowed. Tears streaming down his cheeks. “Forgive me Gregory. Although I never can. Forgive myself that is. For having hurt you. Again and again. For having punished you for something you could not control. For having behaved badly when all you were trying to do was to be good. For not having recognized and valued what was always in front of me. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.”

Greg was stunned speechless but he recovered rapidly and stood up and pulled Sherlock up. He looked at that beautiful face now ravaged by drugs, despair, loathing and misery.

He held that face in his hands, caressing his cheeks, wiping away the tears.

_What words would be adequate for this moment? Love means never having to say you are sorry? All is fair in love and war? If you love someone let them go. If they were yours they will come back to you? I am sorry for having let you come to this without seeing what was going on? Please Sherlock just be happy. With me, without me, just please stay alive and be happy._

As all these thoughts went through his head, he was moving forward and closing the distance between them and his lips touched Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s lips parted instantly and he made a sound like a moan and sob and he surged to hold him so close that they both tumbled down back on to the sofa.

Sherlock never let go of him and kissed him so passionately that suddenly Greg drew back.

‘Ow!’ he said touching his lip which was now bleeding from being bitten. “Never do anything by halves do you Sunshine?” he asked with a wry smile.

Sherlock half sobbed as he balanced himself and sat next him, his head in his hands.

“Greg……. you were my other half and I was trying to do without you for all these years. I was angry but it should not have been at you. I thought I was punishing you but I was suffering. I was so empty without you that I allowed John more place in my heart than I should have. He was good for me yes, and he saved my life more than once. But my heart……..I think I was too ready to interpret friendship for love. I tolerated so much that I never should have. I went back to him again and again because I was so afraid of being alone…………………I didn’t know how to be without you and I was filling up that empty space inside of me……… He was a good friend once but then he changed. I changed.”

Greg was silent next to him. He licked his lip tentatively. _Still tasted blood._

_“_ We all change Sherlock” he said sadly.

“No”, Sherlock replied softly. “ _You_ didn’t change. You had my back then and you have it now. You have always been there for me even when I was not there for myself.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if I have any right to ask you this anymore but do you think you could love me again?”

Greg turned to look at him with the slow smile that came from his heart. He shook his head.

“No I can’t do that.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. ( _What had you expected?? Idiot!!)_

Greg continued. “Because I never stopped loving you Sunshine. Never. Not for one second.”

“Oh Greg!” Sherlock sobbed as he half turned to hold him. “And now I can’t even kiss you again because your lip is bleeding”.

Greg threw back his head and laughed and pulled him in even closer and held him against his chest.

“There will be plenty of time for that and more for the rest of our lives sweetheart.”

And Sherlock felt himself falling again.

Deeper and deeper into the ocean of love that this man had opened up in his life.

Greg. His love. First and only and forever.

Two of them against the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more of Greg/Sherlock , here is a one shot I wrote earlier featuring this same lovely pair. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626116


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